


Send Me An Angel

by Neoniichan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adoption, Aged-Up Character(s), Also these sweet beans, And their prec smol bean, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Parents, Bodily Fluids, Cuddling & Snuggling, Divorce, Drama, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Established Relationship, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Marriage, Married Couple, Mentioned Prescription Drug Abuse, Mentions of miscarriage, Mpreg, Not that way though, Post Mpreg, Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Slice of Life, Tags May Change, Time Skips, Too pure for this world, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bye, daddy!Viktor, family au, home birth, language warning, mommy!Yuri, precious cinnamon roll, semi-graphic birth, some sexual references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neoniichan/pseuds/Neoniichan
Summary: They'd discussed becoming parents before, but they'd never expected it would happen in such a profound, life-changing, and beautiful way. Both Yuri and Viktor are totally in awe of how overwhelmingly perfect their son is in their eyes, from the time he's a tiny newborn and increasingly more so as he grows into a young man. They wanted to be parents, but are they really ready for the struggles this whole parenthood thing brings?





	1. Victory

**Author's Note:**

> Lol, so... I'm notoriously bad at writing A/Ns. I usually end up writing these massive text barfs that no one wants to read, talk about my life, complain about stupid people.... On FFnet I used to answer comments this way. I don't know if I'll even get comments on this, honestly, because I haven't written anything outside of a role-play in a while and I'm just starting to get my passion for fic-writing (*snort*) back a little more every time a new episode of YOI comes out. At the time, ep 9 has just come out, but I've been working on this brainchild on and off for weeks while barely sleeping, so beware; and if you notice any inconsistencies or inaccuracies, please point them out so I can fix them.
> 
> So about this fic, and how it came to be. I don't know about anyone else, but I always love reading about the author's inspirations, so Imma just go ahead with this. I was inspired for this through RP, big surprise. I'm not sorry, Yuri Katsudaddy is my spirit animal, and my Viktor is literally the most perfect representation of the character that I've ever seen outside of the show itself. This fic transpired after a conversation about mpreg in regards to Vikturi (also the realization that my partner enjoys it as much as I do, which was vastly shocking to me); we'd decided that it was an avenue we could likely pursue, and because I'm part of the 1/3 of the fandom that over-analyses and over-reacts.... Well. This is less based on something that we've planned out or that we've already played, and more of a realization of my own desires for this ship. Plus, after seeing how Viktor and Yuri cheered Yurio on in ep 8... I just feel like they need to be more than dog dads. That's just my opinion, anyway. 
> 
> But I digress. Read on, lovelies. And next time, I'll try not to text barf in the A/Ns. I'm truly sorry.

“Oh….” Yuri sighed happily, his arms outstretched to receive a small bundle, quietly squirming in its confines, and held it close once he had it positioned properly. The Asian man’s face was flushed bright red, hair dampened with sweat and his chest still heaving with exertion as the baby was placed in his arms; he pulled the blanket back from his face tenderly, brushed his cheeks with the tips of his fingers so carefully that it looked like he was caressing a porcelain doll. His expression was wide-eyed, almost in disbelief as he bit down on his bottom lip, took a deep breath in. And then the tears started, just as his finger stroked across the infant’s mouth and he instinctively latched on to suckle at it. “Wow….”

Yuri was otherwise speechless watching the newborn as his eyes cracked open for the first time, still visually impaired as they tried to focus in the general vicinity of his mother’s face, and the tears came freely. They stained his cheeks, which burned hot as he tried to hold back. The baby’s eyes were a misty blue-grey, but they would change colour eventually, likely to Yuri’s own dark brown. The hair that fell over his son’s forehead was jet black, darker even than Yuri’s--and yes, there was a lot of it. He removed his finger from his son’s mouth, pushed the blanket back to run his fingers over the top of his head. Everything about him was so beautiful and so perfect…. He pulled his hand away to wipe his eyes.

Just before he could, his hand was clasped in a slightly larger one, the weight of another body shifting the bed. “Why are you crying, Yurachka?” Viktor leaned over, his head on Yuri’s shoulder as he reached up to wipe his lover’s tears for him. His eyes were concerned, but there was a smile on his face and he leaned up to press a kiss to his Japanese lover’s cheek. “He looks just like you.”

Honestly, Yuri didn’t know why he was crying. He’d spent thirty-seven weeks incubating the hyperactive little beast that refused to let him sleep, who twisted, spun, and bounced until his mother just about peed himself at the most inopportune moments. The couple made jokes about their child already practicing his quad flip, but the longer it went on, the more miserable Yuri became, and the less funny it was. Finally, at the beginning of the thirty-sixth week, Yuri had had enough and just wanted it over with. He expressed as much to his lover constantly over the course of two weeks, and now here they were, cuddled up together in bed with their son, their doula having already packed up and left once the infant’s health was assured.

He was just barely considered preterm, and there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with him. He was small, but his heart and lungs sounded fine, he had good reflexes, he was active, his eyes were open, and he had two responsible parents who knew to take him straight to the hospital if anything seemed suspicious. Yuri felt like he was going to burst with joy--he had no idea how he could have produced something so unimaginably beautiful, even if Viktor _had_ helped. He’d always had this sinking feeling that something would be wrong with their son, or that after he was born Yuri wouldn’t be able to connect with him--he’d been told all about post-partum depression, had it drilled into him until he was physically afraid of it--but now that he was here, all of that washed away. He did feel guilty however. The distinct emptiness inside him where his child had rested just a little over an hour ago served to remind him how he’d wanted him out, how much in those weeks he’d hated the condition he was in and begged for it to be over.

He regretted that. He wasn’t unhappy, but… if something had gone wrong, he never would have been able to forgive himself. Yuri’s tears then were a combination of just that--his overlapping regret and his joy.

“Here.” Viktor nudged his partner’s arm, handed him a warm bottle of formula that he’d been taught by the doula to prepare. His smile was soft when Yuri finally looked up at him, eyes filled with emotion in a way Yuri hadn’t seen before. He had watched Viktor literally transform from the façade of a marble statue--cool, untouchable, awe-inspiring perfection--into a loving, empathetic, vulnerable, warm human being. He’d seen Viktor go from being an idol to an instructor to a lover… and to see him now as a father, filled with the purest form of unconditional love…. Yuri held his breath, took the bottle offered him for their child slowly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, and before he knew it, he was pressing their lips to release an artesian spring of pent up emotion. Of course Viktor reciprocated with no hesitation at all, and that just served to steal Yuri’s breath completely.

How did he deserve something this perfect in his life? He hadn’t done anything great or special. He’d never been especially selfless or philanthropic or humanitarian. So why? Why was he so blessed with a beautiful partner and a beautiful child, and so much love that he couldn’t physically contain the bliss that overwhelmed his entire being?

Finally, they broke and Yuri traced the nipple of the bottle over his son’s lips, watched him latch on aggressively as he practically inhaled his very first meal. When Yuri looked up, his partner was biting down on his lip, and he just knew that behind that expression was a playful jab at Yuri’s own eating habits. So he matched it with a bittersweet expression of his own, daring Viktor even to breathe with that thought on his mind. “Yuri….” The Russian started, accent heavy on his mischievously lilting voice. He was grinning.

He would have bit back before Viktor had a chance to say anything, vastly far from in the mood for poking at his weight, but instead, Viktor pulled out his phone and took a quick picture of his still owlishly blinking lover. “Viktor, what did you do?” Yuri watched him swiping his thumb across the screen, eyes bright and a silly smile on his plush lips--Yuri knew better. He was up to something. With a final tap, Viktor nodded, his grin widening immensely.

Yuri’s phone went off on the nightstand beside him almost instantly--his Instagram notification tone. He eyed Viktor suspiciously as he shifted their son in his arms to retrieve the phone. All he had to do was look at the lit screen, read that he’d been tagged in a post shared by v-nikiforov and shot his partner a very irritated look. “ _Viktor_ ,” he hissed, voice laden with as much venom as could possibly be mustered while he was this exhausted. “I haven’t even told my family yet! How could you?”

Viktor mostly seemed to be ignoring him, staring down at his phone as it vibrated with notifications almost constantly. “You called them when you went into labour. Isn’t that enough?”

“Honestly.”

Yuri sighed. It wasn’t worth the fighting, and he didn’t want to do it in front of their son, regardless. Instead, before word could get around that they’d put pictures up on Instagram before telling the proud grandparents, the new mother decided to call his family, let them know everything was alright, and that they could come by soon to visit. “Not just yet,” he requested as his mother excitedly began to get ready to leave. “I’m tired, and we want to make sure he’s perfectly healthy before we start passing him around.” Surprisingly, they understood. At thirty-seven weeks, there were still risks, and Yuri was just being protective. When they’d agreed to wait a few days, Yuri hung up, put his phone back on the nightstand and lay back with a heavy sigh. He was utterly exhausted.

“Want me to take him?” Viktor asked, finally looking up from his phone to see how his partner had sagged against his stack of pillows, and knew that Yuri was past the point where he could hold onto consciousness. This was confirmed when his partner willingly shifted to pass the fragile infant to him; Viktor set his buzzing phone aside to gather his son into his arms, holding him close for the first time. Yuri watched him, his dark eyes hooded, and Viktor glanced up only for a moment to flash his beloved a bright grin. “He really is beautiful, just like his mother,” the Russian purred lowly, lifting his free hand to cover his mouth--as his eyes began to heat and sting, he finally understood exactly what it was that Yuri had been feeling. Looking down on him, even seeing him in the arms of the man he loved more than anything else in the world, couldn’t compare at all to what it was to feel the weight of his body in his hands, to know that he was real and that this wasn’t a dream. His chest swelled. He was a father, and this was his son. He bowed his head, pressed his lips to his son’s forehead, murmured to him in his own native language, “ _Ya postarayus’ izo vsekh sil._ ” He stayed like that for a long while, weighing his own words carefully. _I’ll try my best_ , he’d promised, and he knew that even if his son didn’t understand now, he would still carry those words with him forever.

“You’re going to be a good dad,” Yuri whispered, his finger finding the top of Viktor’s head, prompting the Russian to look up. To them, it was such a deep, meaningful, and intimate interaction, so Yuri was hardly surprised when he noticed that his partner’s eyes were filled to the brim with tears. He gave a soft smile, filled with empathy for the revelation his lover must have been overcome with. It was his turn. He swiped his thumb across Viktor’s cheeks, catching his tears before they could fall, and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Why are you crying, Vityenka?”

“He’s perfect, Yuri; and you did an amazing job. I’m so proud.” Viktor dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve, reached ahead and brushed his lover’s sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. “Go ahead and rest. I can take care of him.”

In response, Yuri nodded, settling himself down into the bed, rearranging the pillows to make himself more comfortable. He let out a soft groan. “I’m sore everywhere. I mean, I’ve been through intense training programs that didn’t hurt this bad afterward.” His eyes were closed and he was mumbling, so instead of responding directly, Viktor just smiled, fully intending to let his lover sleep.

He picked up his phone, opened Instagram to read all the comments on the picture of his clearly exerted but happy significant other, the mother of his son, and frowned. There seemed to be a common theme of congratulations on the safe delivery and the good health of the baby, people asking the baby’s gender, and curious about his name. Viktor blinked down at the screen owlishly. He and Yuri had agreed that their son would take a Russian patronymic and Viktor’s surname, but that he would be given a Japanese first name, as that would be the nation where he was born and raised. He glanced up slowly. Yuri’s eyes were closed, his breath coming deep and even. He stirred slightly, and Viktor decided to test his luck. “Yuri?”

There was a slight pause, and then, “I’m sleeping.”

“What are you going to name him?”

This time the pause was even longer and for a moment Viktor thought that Yuri actually had fallen asleep, as his statement had promised. But then he wet his lips, swallowed, his eyes cracked open, and he sat up just a little to examine the now dormant infant. He came close, kissed the top of his head, and then lay back again. “Shouri.”

“Shouri?” Viktor repeated, just to make sure he’d heard correctly.

And Yuri confirmed it. “Shouri.” It seemed good enough. Viktor took a picture of the sleeping infant, tagged his beloved, and then tapped to caption the photo. He stayed completely silent. “You don’t like it? We can change it.”

Viktor looked up quickly. “What? No. I love it. If that’s what you want to name him, then that’s his name.” He wouldn’t readily admit that he was having trouble figuring out the correct spelling. Finally, he just typed out the closest approximation--if it were wrong, Yuri would tell him and he could change it later, it wasn’t as if this was going on his birth certificate after all--and with that, he submitted it. Officially, his name would be Shouri Viktorevich Nikiforov, embracing both his Russian and Japanese heritage.

“It means _victory_ ,” Yuri added, his voice now laden with sleep as he closed his eyes once more.

And Viktor couldn’t help but laugh knowingly as his partner drifted off into the blissful ignorance of a fantastical dreamland. _Victory_. That would keep the shippers occupied for a while.  



	2. Ponytail ~ Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouri is excited for his upcoming birthday party and Viktor reminisces on his partner's announcement made just over seven years ago, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So episode ten, then. I'm still so stunned after what happened, honestly, that I don't even know where to begin with this.
> 
> I'll do my best by starting out with the fact that I only originally had five chapters planned with about 3 - 5 pages on my word processor per chapter; but I've come up with so many new ideas that I'm considering expanding upon it as I've had to do with this chapter. The series of chapters pertaining to Shouri's ponytail are currently going to be stretched out into three chapters, though not in immediate succession. There are a lot of things that I want to do with Shouri as he gets older, but I also want to be able to expand more on Yuri and Viktor and their transition into the struggles of parenthood. 
> 
> And lastly, I was extremely surprised and delighted with the response to this fic. I really hope that I can continue to please my readers, and keep somewhat of a schedule. I'm aiming for weekly updates right now. Hopefully the response will stay positive, and of course if you have any questions, concerns, or ideas even, please ask in the comments. I typically respond to all comments in an hour or less.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!

“When’s Uncle Yurio gonna be here?” Now nearly seven years old, Shouri sat in his mother’s lap while Yuri brushed his hair, squirming excitedly. He had grown to be a strong and healthy child, vibrant with life and love and passion, despite the odds against him. He’d never been sick outside some colic as a baby, though he was rather petit for a boy his age whose parents were both tall men. Wherever they went, Shouri was always the smallest in his age group, not that he seemed to let it bother him too much. If someone picked on him for his size, he would deflect it easily and keep on living his life--his parents were extremely proud of how he’d become and agreed that they couldn’t possibly have done better. He was a social butterfly, making friends with anyone and anything that he could, chattering away to old ladies on the street, charming high school girls with his use of the English and Russian languages, coercing the lady in the bakery into an extra cookie by batting his long eyelashes and asking her extra nicely. Not a day went by that Yuri and Viktor didn’t love their son just a little more.

Not even when he was being difficult, something which could only be expected at his age.

Yuri huffed. Presently, he was trying to tie his son’s hair back before bed so it didn’t tangle while he slept; that would cause a struggle in the morning trying to get all of the knots out again, and Yuri wanted to avoid it if at all possible. “He said he’d be here in time for your birthday party-- Shouri, _please_ sit still.” Shouri quieted reluctantly, the pout on his face clearly telling of how impatient he was feeling while his mother methodically brushed through his now shoulder-length hair. “It’s getting really long. We’re going to have to take you for a trim soon.”

The restless child ducked down, wiggled out of his mother’s lap with his hands held down over his hair protectively. “No! I want to keep it all!” he protested, scampering away to crawl under an end table in the corner of the room while he pouted. “I want a ponytail like Uncle Yurio!” Yuri knew better than to chase his son and corner him, so he only turned to watch as the stubborn child made his way under the table and sat there. He was small enough still at seven years old that he could disappear beside the couch and out of sight completely. “And I want him to braid it when he gets here.”

“Shouri, if you don’t have your hair trimmed, it won’t stay healthy and then you’ll never be able to have a ponytail,” Viktor interjected from where he sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other with a tablet in his hands. “Don’t forget, I used to have long hair too--I know all about how it works.” He glanced over. The surface of the end table was glass, so he could see his son with his head on his knees, cheeks puffed indignantly; he raised big dark brown eyes to meet his father’s, dropping them immediately when he realized he was being watched.

“You don’t want it to break off and get thin like Daddy’s, do you?” Yuri teased, pushing himself up off the floor and moved to curl under his partner’s open arm, legs tucked up beside him as he melted into Viktor’s side. There was no response from under the table, so Yuri let it go, focusing on what was currently on the tablet screen--a video of one of their students in slow motion, practicing the routine that was going to win him gold at the upcoming Worlds Championship in the Men’s Singles division. The former competitor tapped the screen, backed the video up to watch an intense step sequence. “There’s still something missing.”

Viktor nodded solemnly, rubbing at his bottom lip with the pad of one finger. “It needs some refinement. He’ll win regardless, but it would be even better if he managed to top his personal best. I think he could still improve the triple axel out of the spread eagle, and he should work on focusing his spin sequences a little more.”

As he spoke, Yuri nodded in agreement; his lover had a well-trained eye that could pick out the slightest of flaws with a program. At the age of thirty-six, Viktor’s competitive skating career was long over, and once their son was born, Yuri had also retired--the pair spent their time coaching several students from the novice to international levels, and had been nurturing their current star from the time that he was a promising fourteen-year-old participating in the Junior Grand Prix. “He could work on his arabesque here just a little; his leg isn’t as straight as it could be,” Yuri added, tilting his head to one side for a better look.

Shouri slowly slipped out from under the table with curiosity, wide-eyed as he crawled along the edge of the couch so he could worm his way up in between his parents. He was entirely fascinated by the world of figure skating, and had already competed in some local novice competitions for children, taking the Saga Prefecture by storm with the amount of charisma he already possessed as a performer. It wasn’t really a surprise to anyone--as soon as someone read his surname and realized he was the son of living legend, Viktor Nikiforov, it was almost expected that he’d be a genius on the ice. But Shouri worked hard as well--it wasn’t something that came as naturally to him, even if he _had_ been around the arena his whole life. No, he practiced all the time with his parents supporting him, and like tonight, he often watched while they worked, trying to take in all he could about his current idol--their top student.

It was normal for the three of them to curl up on the couch like this, Shouri eventually nodding off to sleep against his father’s shoulder while they watched videos of their students to examine the areas where they could be improving. Usually, Viktor would carry him off to bed when they were absolutely certain that he was asleep, but before they had a chance this time, there was a knock at the door and Yuri slid himself out from underneath his son’s legs to go answer it. The dark-haired boy stirred, sat up to rub his eyes with a groan before turning to cling to his father’s shoulder desperately. Viktor set his tablet aside, brushed his son’s hair back from his face while his other arm closed around the boy’s body to secure him to his chest. These were the moments that he appreciated the most, looking back on almost seven years now and marveling at how much his and Yuri’s child had grown.

Viktor could clearly remember when Yuri had announced his pregnancy to his then fiancé. He’d done it confidently, with both conviction and love for their unborn child, and Viktor couldn’t have felt more pride in his lover if he tried. His younger lover had been feeling under the weather at the time, was vomiting almost every evening after they returned home from practice, and at first they both assumed he was pushing himself too hard--it wasn’t as if he was doing much outside of the occasional exhibition lately, so he could back off his training regimen until he felt better. Coach’s orders. Surprisingly, Yuri had complied; though when that didn’t seem to help and the very smell of the tonkatsu frying away with the egg and vegetables for his favourite dish turned his sensitive stomach, they both agreed he needed to see a doctor.

At the time, they’d had a few students that absolutely couldn’t be neglected, so Yuri made the trip to see the doctor on his own. The first appointment yielded no results--it was likely just a bad stomach bug, he was told, received instructions to get plenty of rest and lots of fluids to counteract the effects of dehydration that he would no doubt experience with frequent vomiting. It would clear up on its own. However, as time progressed, it just seemed to get worse. Standing made him dizzy, and the nausea would instantly take over--Yuri ended up with a bucket next to his bed and a whole case of water bottles so he could minimize the amount of time spent on his feet. Viktor recalled being excessively worried, to the point where he wanted to take time off to stay with Yuri until he was feeling better, but the suggestion had resulted in his lover bawling about Viktor throwing his life away for someone like him. He could only hold his precious protégé, rocking him until he was trembling and sniffling, simply too spent for any more tears to come.

Despite the fact that Yuri had hardly kept anything in his stomach besides crackers and dry toast, Viktor noticed the obvious changes in his lover’s waistline. When they’d cuddle close at night, Yuri’s back to his chest, he’d pull his beloved close, kiss his neck and shoulder, whisper to him about how beautiful he was, how much he loved him, how lucky he was to be with him like this; but over the course of twelve weeks or so, when Yuri’s illness had finally began to subside, the legendary athlete noticed the shocking difference in Yuri’s body. Even when he’d been competing regularly, there had always been a healthy layer of squish to his hips and abdomen--this far exceeded the normality of Yuri’s padding. This was a blatant bump, and Yuri was in a taxi the following afternoon to see a doctor _immediately_. Viktor, of course, feared the absolute worst, especially considering how firm the extra weight was under Yuri’s skin, and he couldn’t focus the whole time he was with his students, to the point where they forced him to call it a day and took him out for a drink to calm his nerves. It hardly helped, but he was grateful that they cared so much.

That night when they were alone, the door closed to the rest of Yu-topia Akatsuki, they sat on the edge of the bed together; Yuri had slowly turned to face Viktor, took his hands and squeezed them--whether he’d been trying to reassure Viktor or himself, the Russian still wasn’t quite sure, though it was likely that both assumptions were accurate. _“Don’t jump to any conclusions before I’m finished,”_ Yuri had informed his fiancé, and Viktor distinctly remembered him looking away, searching for the right words. _“And please don’t be upset. I’m confused too, but… I guess there’s not really going to be any conclusive answers until I can go back for more testing.”_ Of course this had Viktor panicking; with wording like that, how could he not assume the worst?

 _“Viktor,”_ Yuri had looked up then, calm and collected. More so than Viktor had ever seen him before. _“We’re going to be parents. I’m pregnant.”_ And at the time, that was actually worse than what he’d initially assumed--it wasn’t even physically possible. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his beloved protégé was carrying his child, and he wanted to believe that it was some kind of joke; but the look on Yuri’s face was not laughing, and Viktor’s heart had sunk with crushing weight into his stomach. His breath was tangled in his chest, fighting for escape, but he held it down. How was this possible? How were they sure? Was it safe? How far along? Viktor had a million questions; and despite knowing that he was in a panic and most of the details of Yuri’s basic explanation being skewed in his memory, he did remember one thing loud and clear. _“They won’t know anything until the ultrasound, but I plan on carrying this baby as long as possible and raising it with you. I know we didn’t think we’d become parents this way, or this soon, but I’m counting it as a blessing. I want this baby.”_

And Viktor wanted to stay at Yuri’s side to support him, even if that meant coming to terms with such an impossible situation.

Viktor made a point of being present for the first ultrasound, when they found out that their son was already roughly seventeen weeks into development, that he was a healthy size, and could likely hear them talking already. The technician took pictures for them to bring home, let them hear the baby’s heartbeat, and sent them on their way. There was more testing scheduled for later that day--there were so many uncertainties and so many possible risks that the doctors wanted to make sure that both Yuri and the baby were going to be safe. One of the specialists they saw even so much as told the couple that either Yuri or the baby--or both--would more than likely die, and the best course of action would be simply to abort. In fact, he pushed so hard on his opinion that Yuri’s confidence was shaken and Viktor spent the whole cab ride home trying to console his heartbroken lover.

Eventually, after all the tests and the frequent doctor visits and ultrasounds, they were given good news--it seemed like there was currently very little risk, everything was progressing as properly as a practically unheard of anomaly like this could. Even better still, was that there were other recorded cases like this, where the mother was able to carry to term and both he and the infant were safe and healthy. But things could still take a turn for the worse if they weren’t careful, and the doctors wanted to continuously monitor Yuri’s condition toward the end of his pregnancy. They recommended planning a birth via Caesarian, though all things considered, it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility for a natural delivery--dangerous, yes, but not impossible. From there, Yuri decided he wanted to try doing it naturally with as little medical interference as possible--he’d had enough poking and prodding by then and he was starting to feel claustrophobic. For Viktor, despite what he wanted, it was more important for him to make sure Yuri wasn’t under any unnecessary stress. If that meant preparing to bring their son into the world at home with a doula, then Viktor was prepared to go through with it. As long as their OB/GYN was on speed dial and Yuri agreed to go to the hospital if things didn’t go as planned.

The whole process had been chaotic, enough that Viktor had a difficult time remembering all the times that he and Yuri had just laid together and talked about how different their lives would be once their son had come into the world, feeling his movements flutter inside his beloved, which eventually turned into strong kicks and punches. He’d almost forgotten how excited they’d been together, how the whole experience had brought them so much closer. Before he was even born into the world, Shouri had enriched their lives with so much happiness and strengthened the bond that they already shared. Yuri had been right when he called Shouri a blessing--their son truly was nothing short of just that.

Shouri shifted against him, wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and buried his head down into Viktor’s cashmere sweater with a muffled groan. Just a little longer and Viktor knew that he’d be able to lift Shouri without waking him to put him in his own bed. He looked up, when he heard his partner treading down the hall toward the living room, another set of feet trailing behind him; Yuri led the blond Yurio into the room, whispering softly about something with a warm smile.

“He’s asleep, but it’s probably better that way. He’ll be so excited to see you when he wakes up,” Yuri purred as he knelt by the couch, stroking his son’s hair affectionately.

Yurio stood back behind him, hands stuffed in his sweater pockets, his ponytail tied low and pulled over one shoulder. “He’s gotten bigger,” he remarked, one side of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “I still can’t believe you managed to get your figure back after that. It’s weird that you don’t have a mom body.”

“I’d prefer if you kept your eyes off my katsudon, Yurio.” There was nothing but teasing in Viktor’s voice, his expression still as soft as if he were watching his son when he looked up to meet Yurio’s gaze. “Don’t you have your own dinner waiting at home? Perhaps some kind of Kazakh tradition…. _Kuurdak_?” The younger blond made a face, raising his eyebrow as he instantly caught the implication--indicative of his release from his former innocence. “Or is he more of a dessert to you? _Chak chak_. He seems sweet.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, get it out of your head,” the younger growled while Yuri and Viktor traded amused grins. “I’m only there for training; nothing else.”

It was Yuri’s turn, his amused look twisting into something just a little more sinister. “That’s funny; I read something on Facebook that he’s working on choreography for you. Surely you don’t need someone else choreographing for you with your level of skill…. Unless, maybe it’s not on the ice.”

Yurio’s face flushed, a dusty rose over ivory pale cheeks. “We just--” His voice rose and he paused, watching Shouri squirming in his father’s lap, drawing out a long moan as he curled his legs up to his chest, pulled a hand back to rub his eyes, and then settled his head back down. This time, Yurio kept his voice low, a venomous hiss. “We’re just training together. There’s nothing wrong with that. Now that Yakov has retired, I needed to go where the top coaches were; if that means I have to live in with Beka, then so be it.”

Shouri stirred again, this time sat up and slid off his father’s lap with his dark eyes hooded, stumbling across the few steps between the couch and the blond so he could cling around his leg. “Uncle Yurio, when are you and Uncle Beka getting married?” he inquired tiredly, nuzzling his treasured uncle’s thigh with a groan. “Mommy said you moved to Canada to get married and I was going to be the flower girl.”

Yurio paused, narrowed eyes flashing up to where the bi-cultural couple sat, watching their children with all trace of teasing having dispersed. “Ahh….” He was at a loss for words, petting Shouri’s dark hair with as much affection as he could muster. “Well… we’re waiting for you to grow your hair long. You can’t be a flower girl if you don’t have long hair.” His face flushed, but he kept his voice soft and low, even as Yuri and Viktor both lit up immensely with delight. Yurio stiffened, gave an indignant scoff, and stooped to pick the willowy child up into his arms. “Come on, it’s past your bed time. You shouldn’t have stayed up so late, and your parents are irresponsible for letting you; besides, it ruined the surprise”

“I’m sorry,” the boy replied, voice laden with remorse as he set his head on Yurio’s shoulder, allowing himself to be carried up the stairs to his bedroom. The blond was easily able to maneuver the covers back from Shouri’s bed, settling him down under the covers and tucking him in. He turned to leave without even so much as a good night, and tired as the young dark-haired boy seemed, he still managed to sit himself upright. “Uncle Yurio, wait….” When the Russian turned in the doorway, he laid back, yawned, and still managed to pull a dopey smile. “Can you please tell me a story?”

* * *

Later when Viktor and Yuri made their way up to their own room, they peeked into their son’s room where the door was slightly ajar. When Yurio hadn’t returned they’d simply assumed that he’d found his way to the guest room to sleep--he’d just gotten off the plane from Ottawa, and he was likely feeling the effects of jet-lag. Instead, they found him lying on one side of their son’s bed, stroking his hair absently as Shouri rested against his side with barely audible snores. Yurio raised a hand to signify quiet, then waved the two off to bed--he was fine where he was, and in fact he looked quite happy despite the circumstances. The couple exchanged looks, mostly of pride for the World Champion skater that had easily taken their place when they’d retired, and their beautiful child who was still the pique of their lifelong achievements. Of course they would tease Yurio later. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up.


	3. Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the actual Hell, episode eleven. That's okay, I didn't need my heart.
> 
> On second thought, though, we all know that Yuri and Viktor aren't going to break up--that's ridiculous for so many reasons.
> 
> Anyway, this is clearly not as late as I thought it was going to be; I was sick last week while trying to write this chapter, so it ended up taking kind of a miserable turn. But, everything that I originally wanted to say in it ended up being said, plus some extras so there's that. I'm truly sorry, maybe.
> 
> EDIT: Wtf. So I guess I just didn't edit/revise this chapter the first time through at all? Idk, I have a problem.

“Did you ever think about having another one?” Yurio asked unexpectedly the following morning. He sat on a barstool at the island in the kitchen, watching as Yuri carefully placed large strawberries around the top of a cake that he’d earlier covered with cream cheese icing… store-bought, but Shouri wouldn’t mind either way. He was humming softly, a tune that Yurio distantly recognized as a Russian pop song that he hadn’t heard in at least a few years. The Japanese man continued to place strawberries placidly, as if the action were somehow cathartic to him, while completely ignoring the question. The smile he held, that had at one point been soft and affectionate, was now hardened and appeared much more forced. It irked the blond enough to have him scowling. “Hey, Katsudon. Are you listening?”

“Yuri.” When Viktor stepped into the kitchen, both men looked up; the eldest’s eyes locked onto the youngest, and he motioned for him to go sit in the living room. The blond obliged reluctantly, but only because the last time he’d seen that expression, he’d ended up with his face squeezed in a hand that was not unlike a vice grip and trembling with barely contained rage. Before he joined Yurio, the silver-haired legend made a point of coming over to kiss his partner’s temple, stroked his hair lovingly, whispered sweetly to him in Russian, and disappeared out into the living room to sit next to Yurio on the couch.

There was a long and tense silence between the two of them--Viktor and Yurio had almost always been at odds, though they could act as if they’d reconciled their differences well enough for the dark-haired man who had stayed behind to so diligently work on decorating the cake for his son. Of course, Yuri knew full well how the other two felt about each other; he just let them do as they pleased without saying anything, knowing that they were already trying their best for him, and he appreciated that immensely. The fact that they could sit and talk in the same room without having to raise their voices was proof enough of how much they cared. Presently, neither of them spoke, allowing the tension to gradually increase until Yurio was visibly shifting with discomfort. All this because he’d asked a simple question. “Hey--” He would have asked what the problem was, but Viktor cut him off.

“Don’t.” His voice was cold and hard, almost marble in nature; there was a cutting edge that Yurio could instantly identify as being purely dangerous and it had his skin prickling with subdued fear. “Don’t ask him about that again.”

If Yuri had told Yurio that he didn’t want to talk about it, the blond would have ceased immediately, no questions asked. His feelings meant so much to Yurio that it genuinely scared him sometimes; when he was younger, Yuri had almost been like a mother figure to him, though now that he was older their relationship had changed to something significantly more brotherly. As he grew, Yuri allowed his relationship with Yurio to change--he didn’t cling to the way it was in the past, and for some reason... considering the fact that it was able to evolve like this, and that Yurio knew Yuri would still provide him with all the love he could ask for…. That was so important to him. With Viktor, the young blond couldn’t find it in himself to care as much what happened in their relationship. He held back enough as it was. With Viktor and Yuri nearly attached like conjoined twins, Yurio rarely had a chance to express how little he could actually stand to breathe the same air as his retired senior, and thus when he was given the chance, it usually ended badly.

“What, don’t tell me there’s some kind of tragic back story,” he bit back, whether or not it was appropriate to do so.

And clearly it was not, because Viktor’s reaction was shockingly different from what the blond had expected. He could handle having his face grabbed, having words purred down at him that were so sickeningly sweet and laced with the threat of bubbling ire because it was what he expected from Viktor. Instead, he watched the silver-haired man tense, bite his lip, cover his mouth, and turn away. He bowed his head, shook it ruefully, and stayed silent, clearly searching for what he wanted to say. Yurio immediately wanted to backtrack--this wasn’t what he was hoping to invoke at all, and for once, he felt genuinely apologetic toward Viktor. He scrambled for something to say, grasping at straws because, while he knew that he needed to make it right, he didn’t know exactly how to do it in a way that wouldn’t end with him feeling entirely vulnerable. Luckily, Viktor was able to collect himself first, even if he didn’t look up.

“We did,” he answered slowly, and it took Yurio a minute to realize that this was in reference to the question he’d asked the Japanese man earlier in the kitchen. “We thought about it. We tried.” The tension was slowly being replaced with something much more uncomfortable, something Yurio could clearly identify as grief. He had to look away from Viktor, hang his head, drop his pride for once.

“Viktor, I’m--”

“Well. It wasn’t meant to happen, was it? And Shouri is a blessing enough as it is.” Clearly, he was trying to cut that sickening feeling, change his humour to make Yurio feel less uncomfortable as he sat up, forcing a grin. “All he’s been talking about lately is how you promised to braid his hair when it’s long enough, and I think it’s long enough now. You’d better keep your promise to my son, _Koshechka_ , okay~?”

There was no way that this wasn’t going to change Yurio’s mood completely, and Viktor knew it. He had purposely called the younger man using the diminutive feminine word for cat, and he watched how the blond bristled accordingly. They both knew this was intentional, and of course, Yuri took the bait--mostly because he was expected to, but also because maturity never quite rid him of his impulsive and often explosive anger. “Like you’re one to talk, asshole. You’ve never kept a promise in your life to anyone, except maybe the piggy, but that’s only because you’re full of stupid double standards!”

When Viktor laughed, it was hollow, and it left Yurio feeling much the same. He’d clearly said something wrong, and there was no polite way to pry--it was something that neither Yuri nor Viktor was willing to talk about, so he could easily discern that he wasn’t too far off using the word tragic. He couldn’t think of what might have happened in the time that they’d known each other, considering that at least he and Yuri had kept quite close. There was a span of time where they rarely talked, over about the period of two years or so, but Yurio had always chalked that up to Yuri being busy with his and Viktor’s career while raising their young son. Now that he thought about it, he’d mostly only seen Viktor at competitions during that time, which was in fact, strikingly similar to seven years ago when Yuri was with child. He narrowed his eyes, glanced at Viktor, and then found himself biting down on his lip. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“I’ll go.” Yurio rose, hoping that Viktor might have something else to say, but instead the older Russian stayed silent. With that, Yurio retreated up the stairs to find where Shouri was getting ready for his birthday party, intent on keeping his promise to his beloved nephew. It was probably for the best at that moment anyway, that he leave Viktor be.

For a long while, Viktor sat there, until Yuri emerged from within the kitchen wearing his best smile. Viktor could tell without looking up that it was just a mask to what he was feeling inside. When his lover dropped onto the couch beside him, it was into his open arms, and he was immediately squeezing the younger man against his chest, nearly hard enough to bruise. Yuri didn’t mind in the slightest; he turned, his arms winding around Viktor’s neck, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other wound tightly into his hair, and together they bowed their heads in silence. Largely, their marriage had been filled with ups--they were both overwhelmingly happy with their life, and so proud of the son that they’d created and raised together. But they’d also had their downs--the fact that they’d survived through them and supported each other without letting anything come between them had only made their bond stronger.

“I finished the cake,” Yuri finally stated, weak though his voice was. He was close enough that Viktor could hear him, and acknowledged with an incoherent grumble. “And dinner is in the oven. There’s enough food to feed a small army. Traditional Russian style, right?”

“You’re a good wife.” Viktor was teasing, as best he possibly could, because he knew that Yuri was trying to bring his spirits up in the best way he knew how. So he reciprocated, pulled away to kiss his partner’s mouth fully and smoothed back his hair. “I love you so much.”

And this time, when Yuri smiled, it was genuine.

* * *

Birthday parties in their household had always been a fair mix of both Russian and Japanese traditions. They celebrated on the closest weekend after an actual birthday, sang the Japanese birthday song, blew out candles in the dark, and always made lots of food. Normally, Shouri would receive one gift on his birthday from both his parents, and both of them would come up with a special birthday wish for him. For Yuri and Viktor it was slightly different--they had dinner and dessert, but rather than a gift, one of them would help Shouri make breakfast for the other, and then he’d spend the night with a babysitter while his parents exchanged more personal gifts.

This year was particularly special for Shouri, simply for the fact that his precious Uncle Yurio, who also happened to be one of his idols in the world of competitive figure skating, had managed to attend. Throughout the dinner, Shouri practically sat in his idol’s lap, showing off to his parents how Uncle Yurio had French braided his hair and recounting stories about all the achievements in his career that he’d earlier begged his uncle to hear about. Of course, Viktor and Yuri were well aware already, but they still acted surprised to appease their enthusiastic child, grinning ear to ear as he became more and more animated until he slammed his hands down on the dinner table and stood up on his chair with a loud gasp. Evidently, he’d had an epiphany.

“Mom, Dad! While Uncle Yurio is here, we should go skating and he should teach me all his jumps! Then I can kick ass in competition next season!”

Both Yurio and Viktor doubled over, hands clamped over their mouths while Yuri simply gaped. “Shouri!”

Instantly, the black-haired boy went silent, exchanging a very similar wide-eyed expression with his dumbfounded mother. He blinked, turning over the last twenty seconds in his mind, and then sat back down. “Sorry Mommy,” he mumbled, giving his plate a downcast look as he picked at a thread on the corner of the cushion on his chair. It was the tone he used when he was trying to scrape by without getting into trouble, because he knew that it was difficult for his parents to resist him like this.

Evidently, as he grew out of his childish appeal, his parents were growing out of falling for the puppy eyes. “You shouldn’t use that kind of language, Shouri.” Viktor attempted to chastise his son as he righted himself, shooting Yurio a look to express where he knew his son had picked up the foul word from. Yuri, instead of continuing to stay upset over it, shook his head and sighed. “Finish up your dinner. We’ll talk about skating later.”

“It’s not a bad idea, if you both don’t mind. Maybe I’ll choreograph a high difficulty program for him to maximize his strengths and surprise everyone.” This statement, which blatantly contradicted Viktor’s direct indication that they could discuss it later, earned Yurio a venomous glare from across table, which the young blond returned with just as much intensity.

Shouri, on the other hand, choked. He’d been stuffing his face animatedly while Yuri gently scolded him on his manners when he finally finished processing his uncle’s words--his mother immediately came to his side to pat his back, filled with genuine worry until the seven-year-old finally gasped, practically jumping from his chair to hang off Yurio’s shoulders. “For real, Uncle Yurio?” he wheezed, glossed over, reddened eyes filled with so much adoration for his idol. “A program just for me?”

“Just for you,” he confirmed, patting the child’s head affectionately. Yuri had softened into a warm smile. Viktor’s gaze settled somewhere off to the side as he touched his lip, clearly thoughtful. His partner, ever perceptive to Viktor’s moods, began to go around and gather up the plates, asked for Viktor’s help to take the leftover food into the kitchen to package it up. Bitterly, the older man obliged his lover, rising wordlessly to come to his aid. And when they were finally alone, Yurio huffed loudly. “I don’t think your dad liked that too much.”

Shouri had since relaxed back into his own seat, and was currently folding a hat out of his napkin, poorly crafted as it was. “Dad doesn’t like a lot of things.”

Yurio watched as the boy’s tiny fingers pressed at the uneven folds, trying his best to make them better, to little avail. He had to think of a way to be diplomatic now--he clearly could not trash talk Viktor Nikiforov to his own son. He didn’t have enough fingers to count the reasons why that would be wrong. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. He’s been grumpy.”

“Yeah, well… he’s old, and sometimes when you get old, you get grumpy. Look at Grandpa Yakov. He can get really grumpy; I remember he used to yell a lot, and I’d pretend I hated him because I didn’t like him telling me what to do,” the blond recalled with a wistful little smile, sitting back in his chair; he couldn’t deny, though, that the days he’d spent training in St. Petersburg were counted among his favourite memories. They’d brought him through the most exciting years of his figure skating career, brought him to Otabek and Yuri, and defined such abstract ideas as strength and love to him. “Now that I’m older, I know that it was all out of love. I think it’s the same for your dad. He’s just going through something difficult.”

Shouri listened quietly, pressing the last fold into place before hollowing the bottom of the hat and setting it on his own head. “I know he loves me,” came the soft-spoken response, and Shouri turned to look at his beloved idol in earnest. “He’s only really grumpy around you. The rest of the time, he’s okay.”

This had the blond riled, ready to snap and say something that he shouldn’t, but the lights in the dining room suddenly went out and the sound of something fizzing caught the attention of the two. Viktor returned in the dark with a stack of plates, seating himself as Yuri stepped carefully in with the cake, seven candles and two sparklers lit atop it. The birthday boy’s eyes lit up and he immediately sat forward, toppling the poorly made napkin hat off the top of his head; he didn’t say anything as his parents sang to him softly, staring dreamily with a dopey little smile on his face. “They’re so pretty,” he sighed, tilting his head to one side after his parents had finished. “I love….” And he struggled here, glancing back and forth between his parents and idol. “ _Hanabi_.” At a loss, he used the Japanese word instead.

“Sparklers?” Yurio suggested, and the boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, those!” Without thinking, he immediately reached out to grab one of the sparklers from the base, only to realize just a moment too late that it was too hot to touch and pulled his hand away with a rather muted yelp. Determined, he shook his finger and blew on it himself, even going so far as to insist that he was tough and he could handle himself when his mother wanted to see it. Then promptly, he blew out all his candles in two lungfuls and grinned as his party guests cheered for him--some louder than others. Yuri turned on the lights and returned to sit next to Viktor, who stood to begin picking the candles out and slicing pieces off, starting with the one that Shouri had excitedly chosen for himself.

"Shouri," Viktor started, catching his son's attention, watching as his beautiful child grinned with his cheeks puffed with cake. If it were anyone else's child, he probably would have felt differently, but the sight made Viktor grin. "My wish for you this year is that you'll continue to grow up strong and healthy, as the most important thing in mine and your mother's life." His voice was soft, grin fading to a small smile as he looked down on his child with a warm gaze--something that Yurio observed closely.

Yuri spoke next, "I wish for you to have good luck during your competitions this season, and that you can truly enjoy every second on the ice with your friends and fellow competitors."

"Thank you," the boy responded happily, sliding off his chair to wiggle in between his parents, hugging them both as hard as he could with his willowy limbs. "Mommy and Daddy, I love you." The three exchanged affections; Shouri nuzzled into his parents' embraces as they kissed his forehead, purring gentle, loving words until Yurio was made physically uncomfortable and cleared his throat.

"My wish," he started, and then paused, almost as if he was considering his words. The other three stared at him expectantly. "Is that you grow up to be just like your parents." Again, he hesitated, bit his lip and looked away. "Warm and loving, and happy."

There was a moment of silence, full of a tension that wasn't entirely uncomfortable, and then Shouri darted under the table to pop up in front of his beloved uncle, crawling up into his lap to hug him tightly. "Uncle Yurio, sometimes you act really angry, but you're really nice!" Shouri proclaimed loudly, earning a snort from across the table, though Yurio chose to ignore it in favour of patting his nephew's back. Then as soon as he had appeared, the rampant ball of energy had flitted away, running back around to tug on his parents' sleeves with impatience. "Can I take a piece to Yuzu now, please?"

Yuri and Viktor exchanged looks before Yuri nodded the affirmative, "I think that's a good idea. You're very thoughtful." And Viktor cut a piece, handing Shouri the plate and fork.

"Be careful; go slowly, and don't drop it."

"Okay, okay! I promise!" Shouri was gone before he'd really had time to let his father's words sink in, leaving Yurio to give his former rivals a questioning look. Later on he would pass by a room with the door slightly ajar--he could have sworn the door was closed when he'd arrived--and peeked inside out of curiosity. Inside was what appeared to be a spare room, though at the far end was a cabinet with the doors closed, decorated with incense and chrysanthemums. In the middle was a glass of water and the piece of cake that Shouri had disappeared with earlier. He could draw his own conclusion from that alone. Shaking his head, more with guilt than anything else, he wandered up to his own bedroom--he wouldn't ask any more questions.


	4. Ponytail ~ Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated holidays, everyone! Or... you know. Whatever.
> 
> Sorry this is so late; my muses decided that they were going to take a vacation as well, and with some added personal life stress, I just wasn't able to effectively get my thoughts onto the page. I figured that it would be better to just let it sit for a while rather than pressure myself so that I could really focus on this story's essence and keep it true to itself without too much of my own negative emotion leaking into it.... So essentially I've spent the last few weeks RPing and playing Deemo... rewatching YOI again, reading some wonderful fanfics, watching someone speedbuild Hogwarts on the Sims 4... also playing the Sims 4, because I have Viktor, Yuri, and Shouri on there as well (Viktor is already at level 9 in his career, and Yuri is still at level seven, I think, though to be fair he was off for a few days with baby Shouri who was somehow born blond xD ). Then to top all this off, I'll soon be moving into a new apartment, and I'm getting a puppy. So much exciting stuff coming up~
> 
> So, a note on the chapter itself. This takes place largely before Shouri's eighth birthday. He was born on April 10th, and I'm pretty sure when I looked into it, that the school year in Japan starts on April 1st, so it's pretty much been a whole year since the last chapter took place. The little tidbit at the end takes place another year and three months or so after the bulk of this one. Just to clear up any misunderstanding before it can happen.
> 
> And with that said, enjoy~
> 
> EDIT: For anyone who's interested, when I'm not writing, I'm usually drawing. And I finally finished some art of Shouri that I'm satisfied with.   
> http://orig10.deviantart.net/a373/f/2017/010/0/b/new_shouri_png_by_kveria-dauwbld.png

The next year flew by with amazing speed--Viktor and Yuri made the most of their time together, knowing that it would be the last year that they would be able to spend constantly at each other’s sides. Already they’d decided that Yuri would stay at home with Shouri when he started school, and Viktor would travel with their students. They had contemplated leaving Shouri behind in between competitions, letting his grandparents take care of him--Yuri’s parents had as much as pushed for this option, really--but something about this just didn’t sit right with them. It wasn’t fair for Shouri when he used to be at every competition, travelling worldwide with his parents and their students. This way, Yuri would still be there for Shouri, could watch over the rest of the students, and planned to take on a few more beginners to fill up the rest of his time.

The first of April came too soon for either of them, and while Yuri was attending the entrance ceremony at Shouri’s new school, Viktor would be home with their top student doing rigorous training right before the Worlds Championship--it would be his second title in a row if he took it, and Viktor was absolutely certain he would. This would be their last time practicing on home ice before getting on the plane early the next morning, and they needed to make the most of it. As if it weren’t bad enough for Viktor that he was missing his only child’s entrance ceremony as he began his first year of school, but the World Championship wasn’t over until the ninth of April, the day before Shouri’s birthday--luckily they wouldn’t be celebrating until the weekend when he _would_ be home, but somehow he felt wrong missing all these important milestones, and he knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do to make up for it.

Yuri could see that Shouri was agitated on the train ride into the city where he would be attending a prestigious academy known for its leading educational techniques. It was definitely more expensive than a local option, but the quality was worth it, and Shouri was in love from the first time he’d seen the place. They had met the headmaster months ago during an orientation, along with several of the teachers who had of course fallen in love with Shouri’s charming personality. Yuri liked the fact that the classes were smaller so there would be more personalized attention for Shouri if he needed it, and Viktor was satisfied with the security measures in place to keep his son safe. Shouri was just happy that he was going to school finally. Last year, because his birthday fell on the tenth and not on or before the first of April, he was ineligible for enrolment--it had been a point of considerable contention until he’d learned that his beloved Uncle Yurio would be coming for his birthday party, and then it seemed like he’d completely forgotten about school.

Presently, the black-haired boy swung his legs back and forth so hard that he’d nearly slipped off the edge of his seat. No matter how many times his mother asked him to sit still, Shouri just didn’t seem to listen. He was spacing out, had his head in the clouds as he tried to deal with the considerable anxiety of facing a whole day in a new city without his parents--specifically without his father, who was supposed to be there to protect him. His mind wandered. What if there were ghosts at the school that they hadn’t known about when they’d visited before? His daddy could surely fight them off; or rather, he could have, had he been there. He didn’t exactly know what this feeling was, but Shouri was welling with a sort of resentment, even if he understood why it was so important that his father stay at the arena. And then he was feeling homesick, wanting the scent of ice, the slight chill of the arena, the whirring of the cooling system, his own tiny blades on the rink beneath him….

Then there was an arm around him, shaking him from his thoughts and pouring into him the sort of warmth only a mother can provide. “I know, Shouri. Daddy really wishes he could be here too,” Yuri murmured to his son, pulling the boy into his lap to cuddle him close; Shouri immediately reciprocated, finding himself sniffling back tears that were a mix of anger and fear. “He told me last night that he was scared you’d be mad at him for not being there for you, so I’m supposed to tell you for him that he’s sorry and that he should have tried harder. You’re being so strong, and I’m sure he’s proud of you,” Yuri murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of the sensitive boy’s head. He could feel his son’s tiny frame trembling and understood just how hard it must have been for him not to completely break down right then. “I’m proud of you, too.” Shouri sat back when his mother took a deep breath and looked up, watching as Yuri drew a hand back, pushed his glasses up so he could wipe his eyes. He didn’t have to ask, because Yuri answered his unvoiced question as soon as he realized that his son had noticed. “I’m sorry… I just love you so much, and I can’t believe you’re already so grown up. I’m happy.”

It didn’t make sense how that could be a reason to cry. If his mother was happy, then he should have been smiling, and this most certainly was not smiling. Yuri clamped a hand over his own mouth, squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled his son close to his chest; in a way, this was likely the best thing that could have happened, because Shouri was now distracted from his own emotions as he cared for his mother. The boy petted his mother’s hair and hugged him as tightly as he could. “I’m not scared, Mommy. It’s going to be okay.” It seemed to help, if only a little bit. Yuri calmed, though he felt ridiculous having his seven-year-old son care for him on the train with other people taking notice. He pushed it to the back of his mind, cuddling Shouri close for the remainder of the ride into the city.

Yuri managed to clean himself up before they made it to the school, but then spent most of the ceremony drying his eyes while trying to stay calm. When it was all over and Shouri came by for a kiss, Yuri had pretty much run out of tears though he was still sniffling considerably. “Be good,” he told his son, though he knew that Shouri’s behaviour should be the least of his worries. “Be polite to the other students and respect your teacher. And if anyone makes fun of you--”

“I’ll tell them nicely in Russian to fuc--”

“No!” Yuri pressed a finger to Shouri’s lips to shush him, thinking bitterly to himself that he was going to have to limit the amount of contact his son had with Yurio from now on. He switched quite easily from doting to stern, though Yuri’s version of stern had always left some wiggle room for Shouri to get what he wanted; of course Shouri knew this, and had already tested the limits of his mother’s patience on several occasions, so he knew exactly what he could get away with. “Just ignore them. You know better.”

“I know, Mommy. I’m sorry.” He batted his long eyelashes and tilted his head in a way that he hoped looked truly apologetic, and of course, his mother bent, leaning over to kiss his son’s forehead in acceptance. Before they knew it, the time came for Shouri to find his classroom and meet his teacher; Yuri had decided to stay in the city for the rest of the day, and would meet up with Viktor to pick their son up together from his first day. It was supposed to be a surprise as they’d originally thought that Viktor wouldn’t be able to make it at all. Maybe it was slightly cruel to keep the truth from Shouri like this, but it would all make for a nice surprise in the end, so they didn’t think too much of it.

At least not until Yuri received a call from the headmaster asking him to come and pick Shouri up immediately, noting that he could be facing suspension. Of course, Yuri was confused and upset--it was only Shouri’s first day and he’d barely been there a few hours. What could possibly have happened in that span of time that Shouri needed to leave? Yuri’s mind automatically went to the worst-case scenario--he’d been in a fight, or he actually had told someone to fuck off in Russian--and so he called Viktor as soon as he was off the phone with the headmaster. Viktor was already on the train, pulling into the station as they spoke, and made it to the school just in time to meet Yuri at the front gate; not surprisingly, the Russian did not seem enthusiastic about the nature of this trip to the school in the slightest. Yuri gripped his hand to keep him from storming in with guns blazing and murderous intent. Because of course, whatever had happened was _not_ Shouri’s fault, and the protective parents both felt strongly on this together. This feeling only intensified when they entered the waiting room and immediately spotted their son curled with his knees to his chest under a small table, sobbing loudly.

Viktor moved first, kneeling to peek under the table as he instantly melted at the sight of his son’s tears. “Shouri.” His son unravelled himself without hesitation, shooting straight into his arms to cry into his chest while Yuri moved in to check him over. Nothing was physically wrong with him, so if he _had_ been fighting, he’d done a good job standing his ground. However, when Viktor and Yuri exchanged looks over the top of Shouri’s head, they both knew this wasn’t the case. Their son cried when they tried to kill spiders--there was no way he would get into a physical altercation with another person. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and Viktor just asked the question that was on his and his husband’s mind. “What happened?”

Shouri’s tears had slowed until he was only sniffling against Viktor’s chest, too tired to even lift his head. “The teacher said my ponytail was against the rules unless I was a girl, so I said I’m a boy and I like my ponytail, so he said that boys with ponytails were gay, and I said that my mom and dad were gay and it was okay, and he said I had to go see the headmaster, so I did and--” He inhaled sharply, pausing to sniffle again as Yuri removed a tissue from his pocket to wipe Shouri’s reddened nose. “He said that the rule is that boys have to have short hair, so I said I wanted to be a girl instead so I could have my ponytail, but he said I can’t just be a girl that and I had to go home until my hair gets cut and I don’t want to cut my hair! Please don’t make me cut my hair!” And with that, he dissolved back into loud, messy crying; Yuri shot Viktor another look as he stroked their son’s hair, and Viktor huffed, shaking his head.

“No one is going to make you cut your hair, Shouri. We’ll do what we can to make it all better.” Viktor’s voice was shaking, his rage building to the point where it was barely containable; his partner moved in, squeezed his shoulder supportively, because they both knew that he needed to stay calm. He’d never had a problem controlling his anger in the past--Viktor was level-headed and rational when it came to his emotions--but this was something completely different. This had nothing to do with his own feelings and everything to do with what those words had done to Shouri. The boy had been fairly coddled his whole life. He had grown up in a loving and well-adjusted family with parents who sometimes fought but always made up, who made sure to let their son know when he was in trouble but never forgot to tell him they loved him, and where he was allowed to express himself however he chose. When he told his parents that he wanted to have his hair long like Daddy when he was young and like Uncle Yurio, there wasn’t even any question about it--of course he could grow it out if he wanted to. He was brought up in a way that he would be kind and accepting of all people, no matter their race, orientation, identity, or appearance, and of course, Shouri had expected the same out of the rest of the world. Needless to say, finding out the hard way that not all people were as loving and accepting as the ones he’d been exposed to thus far was extremely unnerving for him.

Viktor shifted Shouri over into Yuri’s lap as the younger man sat himself fully onto the floor, and the three of them together waited until the headmaster was ready to see them. The Russian man was getting irritated and tired of waiting; the more time he had to think about this situation, the more irate he became. And it bothered him that Yuri didn’t seem to be as upset about it as he should be, though he didn’t say anything--it wouldn’t be fair to misdirect his anger onto his husband, and he knew that sometimes he could say things that were extremely hurtful when he was upset. The last thing he wanted was Yuri hurt and mad at him right now, especially with all the stress they were both already under. No, this was time to be a good, supportive father, and he was not going to let anything get in the way of that.

There was nothing in the room but the sound of Yuri singing softly in Russian to their son, and so Viktor sat close by, listening and trying to level himself out before their confrontation. They sat like that for almost a full half hour before the secretary waved them in, and they followed her from the waiting room into the office where the door was shut behind them. It had given Viktor sufficient time to collect his thoughts and feelings so that he didn’t just explode first thing.

“Good afternoon, both of you.” The headmaster sat behind his desk, a middle-aged man who had only begun to gray around his temples his eyes were narrow and dark, the stress of the years lining his face considerable behind his oval-rimmed glasses. Out of habit, Yuri returned the quick dip of a bow that he was given; Viktor, in contrast, sat stock-still. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t become accustomed to bowing as a sign of respect--he just clung to the notion that this man did not deserve it in the slightest. “To get straight to the heart of the situation,” he began as he sat back in his chair with a very serious expression. “We can’t allow your son to wear our uniform and represent our academic facility while he styles his hair in such a feminine way.”

Viktor shifted, eyes narrowing as he did his best to keep everything in check. He couldn’t just pull out the big guns right at the beginning of the war, as much as he’d have loved to. If he stayed somewhat level-headed and tried to reason with this man first, then it would come as much more of a shock when he tore into him later. “What’s wrong with his hair? It’s well cared for and clean. It’s pulled back from his ears. I don’t see a problem with it.”

“It’s just not the way we want people perceiving us here. Long hair just doesn’t look masculine, and that detracts from the professionalism--”

“He’s _seven_ ,” the Russian hissed pointedly, his hands balling into fists as he fought to stay in control. Shouri was sitting in Yuri’s lap still, face buried in his sweater as his thin body trembled. “You’re going to tell me that a seven-year-old kid’s professional appearance is more important than their expression-based self-worth?”

The headmaster stared back at Viktor with an even gaze, and for a moment, Viktor thought that this might be over--he was going to apologize, Shouri would go back to class, they’d go out for dinner that night to celebrate and they’d forget all about it. “This happens sometimes with children of same-sex marriages. It’s likely that Shouri is trying to fill the female role that he isn’t exposed to in his household situation, and that’s easily correctable with some counselling and therapy--”

“Excuse me!” Viktor jumped, but not because the headmaster’s statement had made him particularly enraged. It was because from beside him, Yuri had suddenly erupted like a dormant volcano--centuries old and once thought to be inactive, shocking the locals as searing hot magma poured from within. “How _dare_ you talk about us that way! We’re great parents _because_ we support our son’s decisions and love him no matter what kind of person he wants to grow up to be; and I’m not going to let you sit here and tell us that we should brainwash our beautiful, sensitive child into being something that’s not him just because that’s what _you_ believe he should be!”

Viktor’s eyes were wide as he watched his husband quiet down again, bottom lip trembling while his eyes welled up with tears. He should have known that his beloved had been simply internalizing his feelings from the start, that he was holding back just as much as Viktor had been, and that everything he was doing was just a means of keeping himself together. He wanted to smile, especially glancing across to the headmaster to see him in somewhat of a stunned silence.

Finally, the headmaster cleared his throat, raised his eyebrows a little. “If that’s the case, we’ll be looking at expulsion. Long hair is strictly against the male dress code, and it always has been. This was discussed during the orientation, and I am certain it was in the material provided in the information package. You had plenty of time to change your mind on sending Shouri to this establishment. It’s only natural that we would have expected the rules to be followed through with, especially by the parents. I can understand Nikiforov not understanding the importance our society places on masculinity, but Katsuki-san…. You grew up here. You should have expected this.”

Viktor drew in a long, deep breath, held it until he could properly swallow his emotions, and stood up to place a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “We’re done here. Yuri, let’s go.”

If Viktor had stayed any longer, he wasn’t going be able to hold back at all. This was a man who didn’t deserve his restraint; and Viktor wanted more than anything to launch across the desk, make that man suffer for having the absolute gall to talk down to his partner that way. He could insult Viktor himself all he wanted, but to blame Yuri for how their child had turned out…. And to insult Shouri for being a little more delicate than other boys, and for wanting to have long hair like two of the men he loved the most in life…. As they left, his whole body was aflame; he fought to keep his breath even, and tried to calm himself for the sake of his lover and child. People like that--who were so discriminatory against others--were few and far between now; Viktor felt more blessed than anything that this was one of the only times he’d ever encountered such blatant ignorance…. And then again, if he thought back long and hard… it had been in the information package, hadn’t it? Maybe they’d just forgotten in the heat of the moment, wanting nothing but the highest level of education for their son and being overwhelmingly excited that he’d been accepted. For this, Viktor felt somewhat guilty, but he planned to stick to his guns. He wouldn’t apologize to a person who was so forthright in talking down to his family like that.

In the end, Shouri transferred to a local school that opened its arms to him, ponytail and all. The teachers adored him, and he’d made friends with his whole class within the first week. He became involved in all sorts of activities that enriched his school life, and he honestly loved every moment of it--even if he struggled in some areas and his grades weren’t the best. Between school and competitive figure skating, Shouri had a full plate, but his parents had taught him to strive for the things he loved the most, and so he kept pushing on, and grew his hair as long as he could just to spite the people who didn’t support him.

* * *

“Shouri, where’s your mother?” It was the middle of the summer, during break. Now nine years old, in his second year of school, and working hard on his summer project, the black-haired boy looked up from his laptop to where his father stood in his doorway.

“I dunno. He said he was going to get me some black bean tea and a sandwich like an hour ago. Maybe he went out?”

Viktor shook his head. “His shoes are still here.” The two exchanged looks, and Viktor held his breath, marvelling at how their beautiful son was such a perfect mix of both he and his partner, a small smile forming on his lips. “When you’re finished with that, start packing up. We’re going to leave for the airport soon.”

“I already packed last night. I was so excited I couldn’t even sleep. I really miss Uncle Yurio and Uncle Beka.”

The silver-haired man’s smile spread until it was soft and bright on his lips, and he gave Shouri a nod of approval, moving out of the doorway to continue down the hall to his and Yuri’s master bedroom. The absence of his lover was worrying him, though he supposed the previous night’s activities could have just exhausted him. He’d been taking a lot of naps in the afternoon lately, which Viktor found absolutely endearing. He was so cute when he slept, even after more than a decade together. That feeling was immediately erased when he stepped into the bedroom and heard what he thought was coughing, coming from the bathroom. He hurried across the room, threw the door open, and was not at all surprised to see his partner standing over the sink with the water running full blast. “Yuri?”

“Oh… hey.”

He was pale. So pale. “Are you alright?”

Yuri was silent, staring down into the sink, breathing deeply before he doubled over to wretch once more. Clearly, he was not alright, but Viktor said nothing. He knew if he just stood by as support, rubbed Yuri’s back and waited, his partner would offer an explanation on his own.

“Viktor…. I think….”


	5. Flower Girl ~ Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all my lovely stalkers. How are you? Good? Good.
> 
> I move in exactly thirteen days. Great, right? I am not thrilled. This will be my first time living in my own apartment and I'm actually extremely nervous, but I think it'll get easier as time goes on. So there's that. My cat has been super affectionate lately, which is really strange for her--she's usually a bit more independent, but literally this chapter is brought to you by Yuuki sitting in my lap for hours on end so I had literally nothing better to do in between RPing and staring at the screen. She's an angel, isn't she?
> 
> Mmm, what else. I've been reading some pretty great fics, and I highly recommend that anyone looking for more reading material check out my bookmarks because hot damn. Also, I'll try to update my profile periodically as to my current status and the progress of the new chapter so that if I drop off the face of the Earth, you might have an idea of why and/or when the next chapter will be completed.
> 
> On the subject of chapters, this one ended up being longer than I anticipated. I wanted to squeeze the whole Otayuri wedding into one chapter, but then I started rambling and it just didn't end up happening. Which means, for those who love Yurio, or are on an Otayuri kick, you'll be pleased to know that the wedding will continue in the next chapter. I'll be working on all my plans for the remaining chapters and looking at exactly how much content I'm putting into each chapter to get an even better idea for how long this is going to end up being; my previous estimate being eleven, my current being in the neighbourhood of 20+. I'm sorry. There's just no tangible end in sight. I know where I'm going, but I always think of these other ideas that I want to write--things like Shouri's love interest and their developing relationship, and some other things that you'll pick up when reading this chapter.
> 
> So, I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I'm getting some really amazing comments from some great people who are really motivating me to continue; whenever I feel like I don't want to keep going, I can usually count on one of them in my inbox to remind me that there are people who love this story and are as dedicated to it as I am. I'm sure if you're one of those people, you know who you are. Thank you to everyone who comments, but also to those people specifically.
> 
> PS. I'm sorry if this chapter is boring. I feel like it might be.

“Uncle Yurio!” As soon as the front door was open, and before the blond could even get a single word of greeting out, Shouri had already leapt from the front step and had latched himself to his beloved uncle’s neck, hanging there heavily in an extended embrace. To say that Yurio was surprised would be an understatement--even if he had come to expect these sorts of outbursts from the exuberant boy, they always seemed to startle him when he hadn’t been exposed for some time. Immediately Shouri began his incessant chattering while narrowed green eyes peered over the top of his head to pin onto his parents who stood by wearing immeasurably amused grins without offering aid of any sort.

Finally, Yurio just huffed, shaking his head. He took a moment to examine his nephew carefully, contemplated wrapping his arms around him for a hug, though he figured it would be best to keep those sorts of things for later when there was no one around to make a snide remark on how soft he’d become in his old age. He was twenty-seven already, nearly ready to retire as he settled into married life with his partner of ten years. Quietly, he craved something like what Shouri was and had been to Viktor and Yuri--their love come to fruition, something that he could raise and nurture and be proud of. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but the fact that Viktor and Yuri had been able to conceive had given him the hope that he and Otabek could as well. And all the time they’d spent together, choosing to forgo protection because they were monogamous and trusted each other clearly had yielded no results.

He huffed, tried to steady himself under Shouri’s weight. “You got big, didn’t you?”

“Yup! I grew a whole five centimeters since the last time I saw you!” And then the dark-haired boy was gasping loudly enough that it actively worried the blond man, who was certain in that split second that Shouri was actually choking on something. It was over as soon as the flicker of worry arose though, and he released his hold on Yurio’s neck to drop himself back onto the floor--he’d barely touched and he was already bouncing upward again, this time having chosen a new target. _“Uncle Beka_!” Shouri practically screeched, overwhelmed with excitement as Otabek crept up behind his fiancé to place a hand on his lower back supportively. If Yurio had been surprised, then Otabek was completely stunned, caught off guard by the sheer force with which Shouri attached himself to the Kazakh man’s body, even if his expression scarcely showed it. Yurio was the only one laughing--this was likely the widest he’d ever seen Otabek’s eyes, the highest his eyebrows had ever risen. No one else could see it, but Yurio knew from experience exactly how shocked his fiancé was.

“He hasn’t stopped talking about the trip for months,” Yuri laughed, trying his best to put on a smile though his face was pale and a vibrant swatch of bright red had bloomed over his cheeks. Of course, the blond took note of this, wanting to explain it away with the fact that he was carrying two large suitcases, though it didn’t seem like him to succumb to exertion so easily. And then there was the point where Viktor, obviously aware of something going on, tried to take one of the suitcases, prompting a stubborn, “I can do it.” from the Japanese man. There was something that Yurio couldn’t quite put his finger on that was terribly amiss, though he bit his tongue for now, turning back to where his fiancé had lifted the squealing black-haired boy up into the air by his hips, face neutral as ever as they chattered back and forth actively.

“Mom, Dad! I wanna do pairs skating with Uncle Beka next season! Can I?”

Despite himself, Yurio grinned. “Just remember, you’ll have to fight me first and I won’t go easy on you.” The resulting petulant whine that resulted from this new development was exactly what the blond Russian expected; Otabek lowered the pouting Shouri to the ground, patting the top of his head gently. “And if you manage to survive that, Beka will make you eat weird Kazakh food just to prove you’re worthy. When I went to meet his parents, he made them cook _mypalau_ for me--”

“I didn’t make them. It’s a traditional dish served to honoured guests. You should be happy they think so highly of you,” came the level retort, interjected before Yurio could finish. Otabek had already pulled back, crossed his arms; his head tilted to the side just enough that he looked like he might have been frowning. As outside observers, Viktor and Yuri couldn’t really be certain. The two stood by and watched as their son looked back and forth between Yurio and Otabek mincing words, and when he got bored with it, he leapt down the hall, showed off an impressive pirouette as he entered the well-lit dining room/kitchen area. Otabek and Yurio following behind at a much more languid pace, likely to keep an eye on the little ball of energy as he bounced around from place to place.

“This place is _huge_! You could fit our house in here, like three times!”

With this, Viktor’s smile faltered and Yuri squeezed his hand as they finally stepped inside to close the door behind them. “We’re not buying a bigger house,” he jabbed, bumping his husband’s shoulder playfully, and though he was only teasing, the way Viktor went rigid just briefly told the Asian man that he’d hit the nail on the head. Of course his husband gave an indignant whine that had Yuri shaking his head with a playful grin, and he wondered idly how he’d managed to get so lucky. He and Yurio were both fortunate to have men in their lives that made them so much happier than they ever could have been on their own; it didn’t go unnoticed how Otabek seemed to have an almost pacifying effect on the usually brash blond who riled easily, bristling like a cat and spitting insults whenever he felt even the least bit threatened. He’d never seemed to grow out of that, but something about Otabek had lulled the angry kitten into docility. “They’re cute together.” He watched them retreat quietly, holding back with his husband, who had planted his feet on the welcome mat. “I wonder if we were ever cute like that--”

Clearly, Viktor was not in the mood to chatter on idly about how grown up Yurio was. “Yuri.” His voice was low and deep, not in that lusty way that always had the dark-haired man coming apart at the seams. This was serious, and Yuri knew exactly what it was about. “Give me the bags.”

In retaliation, he huffed loudly. “I’m fine, Viktor. You’re doing that coach thing again; I’m not your student anymore, so you can relax.” To prove himself, Yuri hoisted the two suitcases at his sides to move them out of the way. Yurio peeked out from around the corner to ask them if they were coming, and when Yuri tried to answer in the affirmative--“Sure, we’ll be right there!”--Viktor spoke over top of him.

“Would it be alright for us to put our things away first? It was a long flight; Yuri and I want to get settled in as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, go ahead. It’s the one to the left of the bathroom.”

And with that, Viktor snatched the heavy suitcases from Yuri’s hands, the younger knowing better than to make a scene in front of Yurio who watched them retreat until they were out of sight. He really didn’t want to end up drawing his son’s attention and having him witness his family in a fight; certainly if they fought there Yurio would get involved, which could only end badly. Of course Yuri and Viktor had the occasional fight--no couple in history, alive or dead, could have made it through marriage and careers and child rearing without at least one blow up--but the two always agreed that it wouldn’t be done where Shouri could see or hear them. In the case that something hurtful was said, and Shouri was too young to understand that they would find a way to work it out, they always maintained their cool in his presence. When Viktor made his way up the stairs directly to their right, Yuri knew that he wanted a serious discussion that was likely to escalate; so Yuri shouldered the smaller bags and made his way up behind his partner in silence.

It began as soon as the door was shut behind them.

“I’m not going to relax just because you tell me to, Yuri. You know how worried I am.” Viktor threw the two suitcases down on the bed, unzipping one of them to immediately begin sorting the clothes into piles. His movements were jarred and somewhat aggressive; Yuri could see plain as day the anger that had amassed behind them.

The younger man stepped in to assist, taking the clothes that were handed off to him much more gently than they were being sorted out, as his husband’s frustration clearly had yet to mount. “Viktor, I’m _fine_ ; it’s stopped now, I feel perfectly okay. It was probably just a twenty-four hour bug; you don’t have to worry.”

“We shouldn’t have come. We should have put the flight off for another week so we could see a doctor and know for certain. And for the record,” Here he practically slammed a stack of jeans down into Yuri’s hands before turning to stand over him. “If it was serious enough that you could look at me in all honesty and tell me you thought you were pregnant, then it was more than a twenty-four hour bug, and _you know it_.” Viktor took a deep breath then, blinked rapidly, shook his head as he glanced up at the ceiling. Yuri could clearly see the tears welling at his waterline before he swiped them away, and he held his breath for what seemed like forever. The Japanese man just stared at his husband with wide eyes. There was something about Viktor’s tears that were so captivating and heartbreaking that it left Yuri speechless; he wanted to apologize, find a way to make everything better, because it was his fault that Viktor was standing in front of him now with anger and frustration and worry so bottled up inside that it was finally spilling out through the only possible exit. “Why don’t you understand, Yuri? It’s not like you’re twenty-six and in perfect condition. It was risky to begin with, and the last time, you were so stressed out with Yuzu…. If you had just taken time off like I told you--”

“Wait, _what_?” Yuri cut in, all romance of the moment dissolving as the tension mounted once again. He watched Viktor dabbing at his eyes with his sleeves and he knew that his husband was furious, maybe not thinking entirely straight, but as far as Yuri was concerned there was no earthly reason to say something like that. “You’re not blaming me for that. Tell me you’re not _blaming me_ for what happened. There was _never_ a time when there wasn’t a major risk of miscarriage, Viktor. Not for Yuzu, and not for Shouri, and not for this… whatever it is. It wouldn’t matter if I were on my feet or laying in bed like a useless lump; there’s always going to be that chance, and it’s always going to be impossibly high. That’s not my fault--don’t you think if I could change that, I would?” He tried so hard to keep the tremble out of his voice, his hands balling into fists as he slammed the stack of clothes in his hands down on the top of the dresser. But the more he went on, the more he felt emotion swelling in his chest, twisting his vital organs into a maelstrom of what Yuri could only identify as a quickly developing panic. He could barely breathe already, his chest heaving as his eyes began to sting hot; he felt constricted, his mind melting away and his vision blurring. There was no way out, and yet he managed to keep speaking, if only to ground himself with _something_. “No, that’s not fair. It destroyed us both, so you should know how I feel. How could you-- How could you say something like that? You don’t think I already blame myself enough? Viktor, what the fuck….” And then he snapped, fat tears rolling out over his reddened cheeks. He didn’t even try to combat them; Yuri let them come, let Viktor see his vulnerability, and just cried, panting hard as one hand found its way to his chest. His hand splayed there, as if it would somehow allow the sweet oxygen to find its way into the tangled mess inside his body, which he needed desperately to return to coherency.

It was Viktor’s turn to stare, blinking back his own tears as realization seemed to sweep over him in a cold wave and he paled considerably with shame and guilt. He’d seen Yuri’s anxiety attacks before so many times, had seen them surpass simple anxiety and bridge over into devastating panic. It was something that he’d learned to deal with after so many long years together, learning Yuri inside out and backwards so he could properly diffuse these situations. “Oh… _lyubov moya_ … God, I’m so sorry.” He moved in, his arms slipping comfortably around his husband’s body to squeeze him tightly, providing whatever support the smaller man would accept--and no matter how angry and hurt he was, Yuri still clung to Viktor like a lifeline, sobbing messily into his shirt with abandon and wheezing in his partner’s scent to calm himself. “I’m terrified, Yuri. If it turns out you are… I’ll be so happy, and it’ll be a blessing to our family, just like Shouri is. But after what happened, I need the extra assurance that everything will be okay, and I know inside you feel the same way. We’re both on edge with the what-if, and I let it get to me.”

There was a long time after this where Yuri was unable to respond, gasping for breath and shaking uncontrollably as he fought for coherency. Viktor never let go, supported his beloved with an arm encircling his waist and his fingers carding slowly through his hair. Eventually, when it looked like Yuri was beginning to come down, the tension in his muscles abating slowly, Yuri took a deep breath and spoke again.

“Viktor, when you worry, it makes me worry.” Yuri finally pulled away, his eyes locked on the collar of his husband’s shirt while the older man wiped the tears from his cheeks with his thumb. His voice was still weak, and extremely hoarse. “I’m used to you being so confident and sure of everything; when you worry, it scares me, because I know that means that there’s something to be worried about. You’re supposed to be my coach; you can’t let me feel things like this.”

With those words, the corners of Viktor’s mouth twitched, lifted into a small smile. So much tension evaporated then that Viktor was able to breathe a heavy sigh of relief. “I thought you said I wasn’t your coach anymore. What happened there?”

“You are.” Yuri sniffled loudly, raised his own hand to scrub the back of it over his cheeks, drying all the places that Viktor had missed. “But only when I need it.”

“I see how it is,” Viktor ceded quietly, his voice soft as he dipped in to kiss his lover’s mouth with the same tenderness that his voice carried. Instinctively, their arms wound around each other’s bodies, keeping the kiss deep and intimate, holding fast until neither of them could breathe and had to break away for air. Even then, they nuzzled close to each other, revelling in the warmth shared between them. “I’ll try my best,” he finally said, moving to bump foreheads with Yuri affectionately, even as he brought some of the intensity of their short-lived argument back. “As soon as we can get away, I’m taking you to a clinic so we can find out for certain. Until then, please be careful.” His hand moved, finding its way down to Yuri’s lower abdomen--it was probably just his imagination but Viktor was certain there was already a slight swell there under his palm, and something about that thought made his heart soar. Evidently, Yuri felt the same, because he was watching Viktor’s hand with so much love in his eyes that the older man was certain that he would start crying again.

* * *

It was almost a week after the Katsuki-Nikiforov family’s arrival, the bright summer morning of Yurio and Otabek’s wedding. The forecast had originally called for scattered showers, though from the window of the master bedroom, all the blond Russian could see was sapphire skies for miles--or rather up to the edge of his and Otabek’s five acre property which was bordered by forest, log fencing, and electric wire. There was a single wisp of mare’s tail just at the edge of the barn’s black roof, curling up around the tacky cast iron rooster weather vane that Yurio hated but Otabek insisted was necessary. He’d never actually offered an answer of any substance as to _why_ it was necessary, though the most the blond had gotten out of his quiet fiancé was that it somehow made interesting home décor for their Thoroughbred gelding, Loshad, and their Quarter Horse mare, Jilqi. Not that Yurio cared too much what the horses thought of it; they’d bought the pair from a small training stable down the road shortly after Otabek had retired three years ago, and the angry man still didn’t want anything to do with them, even if Otabek had let him pick them out and name them. Otabek had tried to talk his younger bride into finding a way for their horses to be included in the wedding, as horses were a large part of his heritage as a Kazakh native, but Yurio absolutely would not hear of it. Last time he went anywhere near Jilqi, she’d planted her foot right down on top of his and leaned on it while Loshad tossed his head back and forth with a gleeful whinny--Yurio could only assume he was laughing.

Shouri squirmed between his knees where he sat, a handful of his ebony hair held in one of Yurio’s hand with a brush run halfway through it. “Uncle Yurio…?” Impatiently, the boy shifted back and forth while trying to keep his head as still as possible. “Are you okay? You’re pulling my hair.”

Yurio honestly hadn’t realized he’d been staring so long that even Yuri had paused behind him where he’d been brushing out the Russian’s luxurious golden hair to peek over his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he bit back, letting out a long breath as he continued to pull the brush through Shouri’s hair, which now hung easily to the middle of his back and was still slightly damp from his earlier shower. “What do you want me to do with this rat’s nest?”

“Two French braids on the sides and a ponytail in the back,” Shouri chirped happily, grinning like a jackal. Yurio didn’t have to see it to know it was there, and he began to section off the dark hair into the portions he would need for his chosen style. It didn’t go unnoticed that it was the same style he’d worn for his Free Skate the year of his senior debut, but he was certain that Shouri thought he was being sneaky, so he said nothing. Behind him, Yuri had already begun braiding a section to wrap around a topknot which they’d decorate with a selection of flowers which would match the bouquet that Yurio hadn’t wanted in the first place.

“Pre-wedding jitters?” Yuri asked softly from behind him, and the blond man was so tempted to answer truthfully. Somehow, after so many years together, making it legally binding and official like this was terrifying; maybe it was the fact that he’d be doing it in front of so many people, baring his heart for them all to see…. But he didn’t have to say anything, because Yuri’s intuition had sharpened over the years. Yuri knew he was nervous even before he could admit it to himself. “It’s alright. Remember, I had a panic attack right before I walked down the aisle. We almost had to reschedule.”

He could laugh about it now, but Yurio remembered that day crystal clear--Yuri was certainly not laughing then. As soon as the music cued them to step through the doors and into the winter-themed banquet hall where he and Viktor had decided to hold their ceremony, he’d frozen with his eyes wide, a deer caught in headlights, and no one could make him move. And then out of nowhere, he was gasping as if his lungs had closed off, sobbing uncontrollably, his chest heaving; Yurio thought he was dying at first, and that Viktor would kill him for killing his fiancé--whom he was technically responsible for as the Maid of Honour. He’d gone from trying to coach Yuri in his breathing, to rubbing his back, to _patting_ his back, to flat-out freaking out alongside him until Phichit had ceded defeat and went to get Viktor, no matter what kind of bad juju it was supposed to bring. And Viktor held the both of them for almost a half an hour, leaving their guests waiting until he could explain to Yurio what had happened and wait for Yuri to come down from his panic. After that, Viktor walked Yuri down the aisle instead of his father, and Yuri still sported red, puffy eyes for the wedding photos.

The blond huffed. “Right. What makes you think I’m going to screw up like you did?” It already felt like his chest was constricting and he could feel his heart rate slowly picking up; the more Yurio thought about it, the more he realized that there may very well be a repeat of Yuri’s performance at his wedding.

“It’ll be fine, Yurio. Once you get up there and Otabek is holding your hands, nothing else will matter. The crowd will melt away and it’ll just be you and him, the same way it is on the ice.”

And that was probably the most reassuring piece of advice that Yurio had heard so far.

* * *

“You’re not nervous at all?” Viktor asked, straightening his tie with the mirror for aid, peering over his shoulder to where Otabek was pulling his shirt on and clearing the wrinkles with quick swipes of his hands before he began to button it.

“Not really.”

“Oh.” The silver-haired Russian went rigid, frowned slightly--he was the older one here, so he felt like it was his job to be reassuring or to hand over some sort of sagely wisdom, but Otabek already seemed to have everything figured out, and every attempt at conversation has easily been thwarted by the quiet Kazakh. It was bad enough that he was beginning to wonder how Yurio had ever managed to build a ten year relationship with the dark-haired man. Viktor, charismatic as he was, couldn’t fathom how he was supposed to start a decent conversation with the young groom at all, and wondered idly how he’d managed to end up becoming the best man.

Otabek shifted behind him, turning to stare out the window of the den, across the backyard where seating for a group of no more than a hundred people was set in front of the gazebo, with the barn as the backdrop so the horses could stand and listen in if they so chose--they were part of the family now, after all. “Yura wants a baby,” he said suddenly, never tearing his eyes off the two horses standing in the pasture, heads lowered in peaceful grazing. Viktor looked over his shoulder again, eyebrows raised in surprise; to him, it seemed like such a personal subject, and it really had come out of nowhere. “I don’t know how to give him that. How did it happen for you and Yuri?”

His face reddened with the implication--Viktor was sure that no one besides his husband had ever made him blush, no one that he could remember anyway, and here was Otabek, casually asking him about how he and Yuri had conceived their son. “It’s probably not something that you and Yurio will be able to do,” he finally said, knowing that even if Otabek didn’t show it he would likely be letting the other down hard with this information. “We shouldn’t even have been able to have Shouri; it was nothing short of a miracle, and we keep being reminded how lucky we are that he’s here.”

“I understand.” Otabek didn’t move though, didn’t look away from the window and Viktor felt so guilty in that moment, scrambling to find a way to backtrack.

“It’s not that it would be impossible, though. Yuri isn’t the only one this has happened to. It’s just uncommon,” he tried quickly, turning now to place a hand on the Kazakh’s shoulder. “I didn’t understand much of how it works, or I’d explain it to you, but I’m sure that if you keep trying--”

Otabek’s shoulder dipped out from under his hand, shrugged away. “No. He won’t admit it, but he’s been trying to get pregnant for years, at least since Shouri was born. I don’t know how to help him. He seems depressed.”

Yurio seemed depressed? Viktor hadn’t noticed at all. To him, the angry little ice tiger had seemed just as vicious as ever during this trip, if not a little older and a little calmer. He’d been holding Otabek’s hand in front of them, sitting close enough to be considered cuddled up, and he supposed that was strange, but…. Depressed? He wondered how much he actually knew the young blond even after all their years training together, competing on the same ice, sharing a podium even. He felt something then, a sort of emptiness that made him drop his gaze with heavy guilt. There were points that he looked back on over the years where he felt like he’d been harsh or even pointlessly cruel to the young blond, little moments in their history that went back as far as he could remember--since the first time the younger male had skated on the same ice as him under Yakov’s tutelage.

 _“What’s this?”_ he remember asking, nearly fourteen years ago now, watching the green-eyed thirteen-year-old stepping onto the ice, past Viktor, who laughed as Yakov barked at him to warm up with figures and practice his singles. _“I didn’t know you were changing careers, Yakov. I didn’t think you would be the type to take up pet-sitting.”_ He watched with interest as the blond bristled, landing a triple axel cleanly just to spite the twenty-five-year-old genius, but it only made Viktor laugh harder, then set his water bottle down on the boards to get back to his own practicing, passing Yurio in the process. _“Poor little_ koshechka. _You can’t just throw a stray onto a pair of skates and hope for the best. Yakov’s students are actually talented; try not to be a burden, okay?”_

Part of him wanted to bury that moment in time, never recall it again because that meant admitting that he was anything other than proud of his past. Later on when he’d had to cede defeat and admit that the little tiger was actually a formidable competitor with undeniably bold expression in his programs, he’d been much better about helping him out, offering him advice when he needed it, even if he wasn’t always receptive. The Russian heaved a sigh, his head dipping as he decided that in some way or another, he would find a way to apologize in a way that Yurio would have to accept it.

“I hope the two of you can become parents,” he finally sighed, lifting his hand to his mouth to run his fingers over his bottom lip in thought. “If there’s absolutely anything Yuri and I can do to help… please don’t hesitate to ask.” This was answered with only a nod and what Viktor was sure was the flash of a small smile as Otabek finally turned away from the window to put his cufflinks in. Outside, the wind had picked up and there were thick clouds beginning to bubble up over the tree line; Viktor noticed the grey tinge to them, recalling the earlier forecast and tried his best to offer a smile. “It looks like it might rain after all.” And that was alright. Rain on one’s wedding day was supposed to be good luck.

* * *

“Hey, Shouri!”

The voice had the black-haired boy twisting back and forth in the crowd, looking for the source before his eyes landed on someone he hadn’t seen in a long time, at least since he’d retired to start his own ice show a few years prior. He screeched loudly, bolting full speed and launched himself into the air to wrap himself around another of his uncles. “Uncle Phichit! I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Yeah, it was kind of a last minute thing-- Wow, you’ve gotten big!” The Thai skater was just about knocked off balance, just barely managing to recover himself before Shouri dropped to the ground, keeping himself snuggled up to Phichit’s waist. “Where’s your mom, little buddy?”

“Inside with Uncle Yurio.”

“I’m gonna go in to see him for a minute.” As he tried to pull away, though, Shouri’s grip tightened and he blinked up at Phichit with the widest, most glassy eyes he could manage. It didn’t take him long to cede defeat, ruffling Shouri’s hair affectionately. “But first, let’s take a selfie with the horses. What do you think?”

“Yes!” The exuberant boy instantly unlocked himself from the Thai man’s waist, bouncing away excitedly before he gasped and froze. “Uncle Phichit, you said next time we saw each other that we’d play a prank on someone.”

“I did, didn’t I? You don’t forget a thing.” Shouri nodded vigorously, his ponytail bobbing around his shoulders; Phichit beckoned him over, motioned for him to keep quiet as he dug into his pocket for a handful of sriracha packets, which just happened to be about the same colour as the punch that was sitting on the refreshment table for guests to pick at before the ceremony.


	6. Flower Girl ~ Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During production, I had a nightmare that every YOI fic had a Vikturi baby, and more than half of them were named Shouri, so I was on an epic quest to prove that I was the first one to use it and everyone else was copying me. In the end, the whole community ganged up on me and berated me for accusing innocent people of plagiarism, even though literally half the fics were Send Me An Angel, but like… AU. It was strange. I also had a dream that I was being attacked by a massive spider after I fell asleep while editing this. Fun fact, I am so petrified of spiders that I scream like a girl whenever they even look at me funny.
> 
> I'm moving in two days, so I've definitely reached my goal of getting this out before I moved; because of course, like I imagined, it could be a week or more before I have internet again. The company that my roommate and I decided to go with offered a really great deal, and they're local, but I don't know how good their service is. We'll see, I guess. At least I'll have that long to spend on the next chapter without getting distracted by the yaoi chat that I help run, or strange YouTube videos that I'll later regret. So by the time I do have internet, I'll probably be able to update again, and catch up on comments. I'll try my best to answer as many as I can with McDonald's wifi and my limited amount of phone data, because I really appreciate every single comment I receive on this story.
> 
> Hopefully everyone is still happy with this and satisfied with where it's going. Another fun fact: I almost just didn't write this chapter. For the first few days I worked on a one-shot that's coming along really well, and I thought about finishing it instead, and leaving this until after the move. And then after that, I ended up in a really stressful period of about three days where I just wanted to write something dark and angsty, and I actually may have started fleshing out a full length dark fantasy AU for after this one is complete, which I may or may not write. I actually don't know what's going to happen until I actually do something because I procrastinate like a bitch. I dunno, I feel like I'd just like to write some straight-up nasty smut or something after how pure and fluffy this fic has turned out to be. So... I think we'll find out what's going on with that a little closer to the end of SMAA. I guess, let me know if that's something that you'd be interested in.
> 
> And with that, I give you this 11.2 page long chapter that I hope flows alright because I spent so long editing and revising.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little nauseous, but I’ll be okay.” Yuri and Viktor met in the dining room to give the bride and groom some time to themselves before the ceremony, and Viktor had immediately begun to fuss with Yuri’s shirt and tie, not because there was anything particularly wrong with them, but because he needed something to do to occupy his mind. The Japanese man bit his lip to keep from saying anything, gave a curt roll of his eyes, and took a deep breath. He knew that his husband had a perfectly valid reason to be worried, but he just couldn’t help feeling irritated by it; nevertheless, he did his best to swallow his feelings down, because this was definitely the wrong time to snap and start something he would regret later. Viktor seemed to sense this, perhaps knew that he could get away with much more than usual, and he knelt in front of his mate to nuzzle his lower abdomen affectionately. Yuri’s face immediately turned to an impressive fire engine red, striped from one ear to the other, and began to glance around frantically. “Viktor, what are you doing? Someone might see!”

The Russian shrugged, placing his lips against the slight swell of his lover’s abdomen, hardly noticeable under his white button-down. Viktor, however, was quite well-versed in the way his lover’s body had changed since retiring from competitive figure skating--spending less and less time having to exercise seriously had left Yuri with the finest layer of pudge, just enough that when Viktor gripped onto his hips, his fingers sunk into it satisfyingly. His skin around his middle was also now striped with stretch marks that had started out an irritated red and eventually faded to a pale white against his crème-coloured skin. Viktor had never stopped loving his husband or his body in all the time they had been together; there was no part of Yuri that didn’t have him completely entranced. “That’s fine. I’ll just tell them I’m giving you a blowjob.”

Of course, Yuri went completely rigid, freezing temporarily before he sprung into action to push his whining husband back away from him, staring down at him with wide brown eyes. “Viktor, you can’t just say things like that! What if someone hears?” He almost couldn’t believe that Viktor was grinning up at him, much less worried than Yuri had initially thought. Instead, he figured that his husband had simply been trying to find the easiest way to segue into a position where he could get on his knees in front of Yuri like this. Now Yuri was the one worrying, but it was more about what Viktor was actually planning rather than mirroring his presumed reason for Viktor’s worry.

“Oh, _lyubovnik._ Why are you so concerned about what other people think?” Viktor punctuated this with that carefree little smile that he knew Yuri loved, but it didn’t seem like Yuri was going to bite this time.

Instead, it just seemed to get a rise out of his beloved partner, who became much tenser with his next words. “Because, we agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone until after the wedding was over, and I plan to stick to that.”

“Tell anyone what?”

The new voice as the patio door opened caused Yuri to nearly jump out of his skin--he might have if Viktor hadn’t been holding so tightly onto his hips. They both looked up at the same time, paled considerably in that moment, Viktor taking on a completely innocent face and clearly not inclined at all to go through with his initial plan. It only took a moment for Yuri to recognize the man who had walked through the door, shutting it softly behind him, and brightened, seeming to forget about Viktor kneeling in front of him in such a suggestive manner. “Phichit!”

“Hey Yuri! Viktor. What’s up? Why are you hiding inside like this?” He glanced down at Viktor, gave a knowing wink that brought all the colour back to Yuri’s face and then some. Of course, Viktor likely hadn’t actually planned on being caught in this position, with his face so dangerously close to a very vital part of Yuri’s anatomy. “Everyone else is outside. I figured you might be with Otabek and Yuri P., not hanging around in here being anti-social. Come on; let’s go out and have some punch,” Phichit offered, a clear escape before anyone else wandered inside to catch the pair in such a compromising situation. He was grinning, a mischievous look that flicked between Yuri and Viktor suggestively. “I mean, unless doing that kind of thing in semi-public is your kink, and that’s really none of my business.”

When they were younger and much less responsible, Phichit might have hung out the door, announcing to the entire party what he thought he’d just caught his best friend doing with his husband, but considering that Shouri was wandering around outside somewhere--most likely he’d gone to watch for people to unknowingly partake in the punch--he decided to keep it on the down low for now. Still, Yuri groaned loudly, covering his face with his hands, and Viktor stood to pat his lover on the shoulder, finding it almost impossible not to laugh, even just a little while Yuri _insisted_ that it wasn’t what it looked like. “I’ll tell you later, Phichit, I promise,” he’d answered when the Thai skater excitedly demanded to know what actually was going on. Yuri had been inclined to tell him, flicked his gaze to Viktor in askance, but had ultimately changed his mind even when his husband had given him the go-ahead. They’d decided to keep it secret, and for a good reason. It wasn’t that Yuri didn’t think he could trust Phichit, but… with an addiction to social media that was unrivalled by anyone else he knew, it was likely best to keep quiet for now, especially around Phichit.

* * *

Yuri Plisetsky remembered it in clear detail, the first moment that he knew he wanted his fellow competitor all to himself. He remembered being fifteen years old, on the eve of his first Grand Prix Final in the Senior Men’s division, and standing at a lookout point in Barcelona. The moment couldn’t have been any more perfect if they’d tried, and Yurio had felt somewhat put out to have been rescued by someone, especially when that person was the quiet and mysterious Otabek Altin, last season’s Worlds Championship Bronze winner. The man himself was a little daunting with the way he kept his almond-shaped eyes slightly narrowed in an almost irritated expression--one that was intentionally set to keep people from getting too close. But they’d ended up talking as the cool evening air swept in around them, and not once had Otabek ever made mention of his lithe, almost feminine body, his pretty features, his diminutive stature. Otabek made him feel stronger, referred to him as a soldier, wanted to be his friend; and that wasn’t something that the blond was used to. As he’d taken Otabek’s hand and agreed to be his friend, he remembered thinking, _This is it; this is what I want._

He hadn’t thought about what would happen after they parted ways to begin training for the next half of the season leading up to Worlds. He remembered lots of texting and late night Skype calls that lasted until the early hours of the morning. He remembered long days of practice on little to no sleep, pining for Otabek’s physical presence again. He couldn’t quite place the feeling as it began to build up between the times that they could actually see each other, that progressed for months, past his sixteenth birthday, beyond the Worlds, into the summer when he’d gone with Yuri and Viktor on vacation in August. He watched them as they stayed incredibly close the whole time; he didn’t understand why he was so angry when they’d kiss and snuggle affectionately in front of him, didn’t understand that twist in his gut or the steel trap around his heart that made it feel painfully heavy in his chest. The blond ended up dwelling on it the whole day, watching his seniors canoodling in such a sickeningly sweet manner until finally he could admit to himself exactly what it was. He wanted something more than what he had now. He _wanted_ Otabek Altin. And he wanted him in the way that Yuri Katsuki had Viktor Nikiforov.

That was officially the end of his friendship with Otabek, because that night he had called the Kazakh skater and told him what had happened. He didn’t want to just be friends anymore; he didn’t know exactly what he did want, but friendship just didn’t seem like enough. Otabek hadn’t gotten upset like he’d hoped, didn’t cry or yell at him or ask why. He simply said, _“I was waiting for you.”_ and from then on, they managed to merge seamlessly into something that they’d never actually labelled as a relationship.

They were intimate for the first time staying in a hotel in Ottawa for Skate Canada, Otabek being so gentle and so polite. _“Yura, can I kiss you?”_ he’d asked while they lay in bed with the lamps on, watching cat videos on YouTube. The blond had to admit, it wasn’t the most romantic first kiss that he could have imagined, but he welcomed Otabek’s fingers brushing over his cheekbones, over the curve of his jaw to tilt his chin, and the warmth of their lips touching tentatively. It was dry, and their noses bumped. Yuri had glanced down and away, feeling so shy and self-conscious for reasons he couldn’t even fathom. It was just Otabek, right? He should have been able to look him right in the eye to tell him that it wasn’t what he imagined and he wanted a do-over. But when he glanced back up and Otabek was staring at him…. He flushed, his breath caught, and then somehow they were kissing again without him even needing to ask--much more calculated this time, with a sweet, slow cadence that Yuri found himself quickly becoming addicted to. And it naturally progressed from there into something else entirely. That was when it finally began to feel real to him.

The Russian punk noticed that he hadn’t seen the Japanese Yuri since their vacation, hadn’t even heard from him at all, and… well, he certainly wasn’t worried about him, because that would have meant that he cared. Which he didn’t. Not even when Yuri didn’t take his phone call to wish him a happy birthday at the end of November, and didn’t show up in Nagoya for the GPF in early December to support his and Viktor’s students… and wasn’t at the Four Continents or the European Championship, didn’t even try to contact him during the Olympics in Pyeongchang…. He was certain that the piggy would at least show up for the World Championship, but then to Yurio’s surprise, not even Viktor was able to make it. Instead, their students flew into Milan on their own and Yakov took them in, even despite the fact that they were up against his own skaters. Needless to say, the angry little Russian had transcended just being angry--he was pretty much enraged that Yuri had been blowing him off for the better part of a year, had missed his seventeenth birthday without even sending him a text, and then had dumped his skaters on Yakov at the biggest event in the 2017-18 figure skating season next to the Olympics. He remembered texting until his thumbs cramped, calling multiple times to leave angry voice mails, taking out his frustration on Beka and Yakov and anyone else who came near him, and then--

On April 10th, just as he was getting into bed--very late at night, one might add--his phone jingled to life with an Instagram notification. He’d been tagged in one of Viktor’s posts, and just when he was giving in to the exhaustion that came after such strenuous competition, he felt his anger renewed. After all this time being ignored, after spending eight months with no contact at all and absolutely no explanation, Viktor was tagging him in something that was probably frivolous and ridiculous, and he was only going to look so that he’d have a reason to be angry. He’d stopped then. The picture was of Yuri Katsuki wearing a very surprised expression, sitting in bed with the comforter pulled up to his waist. All in all, it wasn’t too strange for early April, especially when it was six in the morning in Japan and Yuri looked like he’d been to Hell and back--his skin was pale, dark purple bags colouring his lower eyelids, a bright red flush of heat across his cheeks, and his hair slick with sweat. He looked like he was sick with something terminal. It was when Yurio noticed his senior holding a bottle up to a bundle of blankets which he then realized was occupied by a newborn infant that looked more like a raisin than a tiny human, that he really lost it. Completely froze. Malfunctioned. Shorted circuited even. It occurred to him then that Yuri possibly hadn’t been attending any of the events because of the baby… because he’d been…. But that wasn’t even…. Was it?

Without stopping to say anything to Viktor--they had ignored him for eight months, so it was his turn to ignore them as long as he felt like it--Yurio promptly threw himself into some pretty horrifying research. He needed to know how it was possible for Yuri and Viktor to have a baby; he could have just told himself they’d adopted or used a surrogate, but when he looked at the picture, he just knew that couldn’t be the case. He’d never seen anyone after having a baby, but he’d been subject to some horror stories in the past and could imagine that it was the sort of experience that would leave one looking at least a little worse for wear. Yuri had seen the pig looking worse for wear before. The Yuri in that picture had been on a whole other level, and he knew for a fact that a person didn’t just look like that from staying up all night or being woken up earlier in the morning than they would have liked. And then finally, his research yielded some results--it _was_ possible, he found, but the chances were something like one in five million that a cisgender man could naturally conceive, and there were so many risks to both the mother and baby that even when it did happen, there usually wasn’t a happy ending. A man literally had a better chance of winning the jackpot in a lottery than of becoming pregnant  _and_ safely bringing his baby into the world.

He allowed the weight of it to sink in before he finally texted Viktor a very curt congratulatory message, and hesitantly asked after Yuri‘s wellbeing. Viktor’s reply was prompt: _“He’s sleeping but I’ll tell him you were worried, koshechka.”_ Yurio couldn’t even find it in himself to bristle up as much as he felt he should have; his mind was weighed down entirely by something else. That longing again. Instead of shooting back something nasty, the blond Russian thanked Viktor, asked him about the baby and instead of a text in return, Viktor FaceTimed him so he could put his phone up on the docking station and hold his son properly. _“Do you like him?”_ Viktor had asked, the elation clear as a bell in his voice, which was still much softer than anything Yurio had ever heard out of him. _“Yuri did so well…. He’s so perfect. He has all his fingers and toes and, oh! Look at all his hair! He sort of looks like Winston Churchill though, don’t you think? I still think he’s cute, but I hope he grows out of looking like an old man, otherwise Yuri might not want to have any more just in case they end up looking the same. Anyway, Yuri named him Shouri; it means ‘victory’ in Japanese. Fitting, right? Tell me you like him,_ koshechka. _He is your little brother, after all; considering that Yuri and I have pretty much adopted you. Hey Yurio, will you call me Daddy?”_

Yurio didn’t actually end up meeting Shouri until much later. The black-haired infant was already a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed six-month-old, a little social butterfly who chattered away to anyone who would listen, grinning and flailing from his place against Yuri’s chest. The seventeen-year-old didn’t want to admit at all--not even to himself--how cute the tiny human actually was. His hair was so thick and silky soft, he had his mother’s big brown doe eyes and little button nose, but his facial expressions were copied straight from his father. Yurio watched, sickened, as Viktor leaned in to coo at him with his signature heart-shaped smile and the infant emulated the look with alarming accuracy. And then there was the way the bicultural couple began to compete against each other for some kind of dominance, as their son screeched out something that sounded like it could almost be a word.

_“Say Mama, Shouri! Say Mama!”_

_“Don’t listen to him,_ solnyshko _. Say Papa!”_

_“Stop telling him not to listen to me; why can’t you just accept that he’s trying to say Mama?”_

_“But Yuri, he’s already said Papa twice while you were talking over him.”_

_“Oh yeah, like I was the only one--”_

_“You’re both wrong. He said_ Dya-dya. _Assholes.”_ After listening to this while he was supposed to be warming up for practice, and watching them almost completely forgetting about their students, Yurio finally snapped. He’d reached out while the happy couple was stunned into elated silence, pressed a finger into Shouri’s rounded cheek, and scowled. He wanted to pretend like he didn’t understand why Viktor and Katsudon were so enthralled with him, or why they were so ecstatic to be parents, why they were so excited for a first word out of him… but there was this undeniable pit in his stomach that he was having an impossible time digesting. He was jealous. He wanted a baby like this, that would grin at him with big brown eyes filled with pure, innocent, unconditional love. Though in his mind’s eye, the hair was more of a rich chocolate in colour, and the eyes were just a little more almond-shaped, the skin just a little darker. His own jade-coloured eyes lifted to where Otabek was already on the ice to practice his routine. Yurio knew. And he prided himself this time; he was getting a lot better at reading himself than he’d ever been before.

He’d never told Otabek specifically that he wanted a baby with him, but he had the feeling that his boyfriend--eventually fiance, and now almost husband--just knew. Beka had this way of figuring things out without having to ask and being eerily accurate, though he never would say anything unless his Yura brought it up in conversation. It had been a little off-putting at first, but the younger skater had eventually gotten used to it, found it comforting when taking in the fact that he wasn’t great at sharing his thoughts and feelings. They could both easily sit in tender silence, enjoying each other’s presence, and they’d never needed any more than that. Even through all the years Yuri had spent trying so hard to conceive, they’d never really needed anything but each other, and for those times that his desire for a child was nearly unbearable, there were always alternatives. At some point, as with everything else, it had come up in conversation--not specifically that Yurio wanted a baby of his own, but more that he wanted a family with Otabek--and the two had made a decision.

“Well Yura. This is it. Are you ready? If you’re nervous, we can still call it off.” Beka’s voice was strangely mechanical through his cellphone’s speaker, even though he could hear the soft tones of adoration that had settled there. No one else could have identified it. Only the Russian punk was capable of discerning Beka’s moods. He returned a hum, appreciative of his fiance giving him a way out should he desire it, and shook his head, even though he knew Otabek couldn’t see. “Alright. Then tomorrow morning, we’ll go meet the birth parents as planned. If you still want to.”

“Of course I do,” the bride bit back harshly. “I didn’t suffer through SAFE home studies and twenty-seven hours of PRIDE just to back out at the last second. Stop treating me like I’m some kind of flake.” Otabek purred something back to him in Kazakh that he didn’t quite understand, though he figured it was some kind of sentiment, and chose to take that time to steer away from how happy he actually was. Otabek had called him immediately when they’d gotten an email from their adoption practitioner to say that a teen couple expecting a baby in October had picked their profile and wanted to meet them as soon as possible. It had already been three years, which was a short wait, Yurio knew, compared to other couples in the process of trying to adopt an infant, but it still felt like a lifetime to him. “Isn’t this bad luck or something, anyway? We shouldn’t be talking to each other before the wedding. It’s almost noon, so you had better be out in the gazebo already, or I’ll kick your ass. _Da_?”

“Of course, Yura.”

“And everyone else is ready too?”

“Yes. We’re just waiting for you.” There was a long pause while Otabek waited for his fiance to say something, and then he let out a gentle exhale into the receiver of his phone. “Yurachka. Are you nervous?”

“Are you?” The accusatory retort was immediate, and the blond knew that Beka was already aware of what the answer to his question was. Of course he was nervous, even with the Japanese Yuri’s advice from earlier ringing in his head and making so much sense to him. He was getting stage fright for the first time since he was a small child, and he knew exactly why that was: he hadn’t performed a program on his love since Agape, and that hadn’t even been his idea. This time, when he walked out in front of the crowd of people he considered himself even remotely close with--mostly family, fellow skaters, an assortment of coaches, and some people he’d met since gaining Canadian citizenship and moving to Ottawa--he would be telling them, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was truly, madly, _deeply_ in love with the stoic, anti-social Kazakh skater, in a way that would be wordless and yet also completely indisputable. It was terrifying.

And Otabek’s answer didn’t help. He responded with a very clipped, “No.” And the blond immediately felt himself stiffen. There was an extended bout of silence, where Yuri strained to hear Otabek’s breathing on the other end of the line, and he realized his hands were shaking. “Yura, come down now. We’re ready.”

“Yeah… sure.” He hung up, straightened the tie at his neck one more time and looked up into the bathroom mirror. At the age of twenty-seven, he couldn’t believe that he was getting nervous over something so ridiculous. His cheeks were flushed and his chest felt tight, but he forced himself to leave so that no one would think he couldn’t go through with it. He wasn’t weak, and he didn’t want anyone to come to that conclusion.

* * *

Viktor glanced up from where he stood at Otabek’s back, glanced across the gazebo to where his own husband was standing, misty eyed and biting his lip to try to hold back his tears. Between them stood the happy couple, hand-in-hand, Yurio’s head dipped down as Otabek traced a thumb over his lover’s soft skin. Yuri happened to look up to catch Viktor’s gaze, soft and warm on him, and a smile spread brightly across his face. It seemed like so long since their wedding; Shouri had been just a baby when they’d had their ceremony, babbling away in the front row as Hiroko bounced him happily. Makkachin had also been there, as an honorary best man, standing proudly at Chris’ side--he’d passed away months after, old age having finally gotten the better of him, and they still couldn’t find it in them to replace him in their home. For Yurio and Otabek, things were much different. The much younger blond hadn’t hesitated to take his grandfather’s arm, assisting him down the aisle as the man had insisted upon giving his precious Yurachka--his only grandchild--away to a man who was most certainly worthy of him, who he could trust to care for him for the rest of their lives. Shouri stood near his mother, clutching a bouquet of flowers tightly against his chest as his mother’s own emotional state seemed to project onto him--when Yuri glanced down at his son, he was certain that he was crying. Even the couple themselves were so starkly contrast; where Yuri and Viktor had happily and proudly stood together, ready to proclaim their love loudly, Yurio and Otabek were much quieter, much more inward during the entire ceremony.

“The couple will now exchange their rings with vows that they have written themselves.”

Both Yuri and Viktor looked up then, anxious to hear what sort of thing their Yurio had written to express the depth of his feelings for Otabek, eyes shining as they listened, attentive as possible. They watched eagerly as Yurio took a deep breath, notably keeping his eyes off the crowd as he turned to take Otabek’s ring from the ring bearer, slipping it into place with surprisingly steady hands. When he looked up, his eyes were soft and Viktor’s incredulous expression had Yuri fidgeting behind their junior where he wasn’t able to see. And then he spoke, voice so low that no one in the audience could have possibly heard him, though Viktor and Yuri both were within earshot. “ _Davai_.”

The corners of Otabek’s mouth tugged up into a smile. He repeated his fiance’s actions, placing the ring on his finger with such blatant and open tenderness. “ _Davai_ ,” he replied, just as softly, and before the minister could instruct them to kiss, they were already melting into each other. Yuri could have sworn that the blond Russian’s lithe frame was trembling with tears, and he finally matched Viktor’s look with a slightly shocked one of his own. They continued like that, trading silently meaningful faces as the newlyweds signed their marriage certificate, Viktor and Yuri as the witnesses, and Shouri clung to Yurio’s arm as they moved back into the house, guests hot on their heels.

The rain started just as the last of the guests made it inside, warm summer winds blowing a thunderstorm in from the southwest, and a rumble sounded out over the murmur of the crowd. Originally, the plan had been to hold the reception in the yard that evening, with their newly landscaped garden and patio area with a hot tub just off to the side of the house. Yurio was just happy they’d decided to book a hall in case of rain. After getting everyone somewhat organized and announcing that they were going to move to the rain location for the party, the house began to slowly empty from its overfilled state as people began to file out to their cars. The bridal party hung back, Yuri citing that his stomach was upset after drinking the punch. “Sorry, I’ve never had anything like that; it must have disagreed with me,” he apologized, rubbing at the back of his head sheepishly.

“What are you talking about? It’s just fruit punch out of a can.” Yurio looked mildly annoyed, though he was slightly taken aback by this reaction.

Yuri’s eyebrows came up just a little. “You mean… it wasn’t some kind of strange Kazakh tradition?” He glanced at Otabek who shook his head, an arm draped around his husband’s waist and expression level as ever. “I’m sorry… that’s not what I meant, I just-- God, I’m so sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he broke from Viktor’s handhold to move himself into the bathroom.

Viktor watched him go, slightly forlorn, before turning his attention to his son who was fidgeting at his side, looking dreadfully gloomy. “Is something wrong, _solnyshko_? You’re not sick too, are you?” A hand dropped to feel his son’s forehead, and the Russian clicked his tongue. No fever. But Shouri hadn’t even looked up at him yet. He almost seemed… guilty.

“Daddy… Uncle Phichit and I put sriracha in the punch. Is that why Mom is sick?” He seemed to withdraw a little, making himself as small as possible even though he hadn’t received an answer yet. He’d naturally just assumed that he’d done something horrifically tragic.

And despite this, Yurio snorted, covering his mouth and nose to stifle a laugh while Viktor’s eyebrows shot impossibly high. “That does explain a lot.” Of course, Viktor had questioned the flavour of the punch but drank it nonetheless, even when people around him had been spitting it out as discreetly as they could back into their cups and quietly complaining. “No, Shouri. Don’t worry. That’s not what’s making your mother sick. He hasn’t been feeling well for a little while now.”

“Has he got a stomach bug?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh….” This seemed to brighten the energetic child once again, and he jumped up to hug his father enthusiastically. “We should make Mommy that umeboshi tea that he likes!”

Just the word made Viktor cringe, though he knew that Yuri actually might appreciate the gesture. The Russian man, however, very quickly became aware of the cultural differences when he first moved to Japan to begin the naturalization process; one of the biggest barriers for him beyond language, was finding foods that he actually liked outside of ramen, udon, and katsudon. There were some things that he tried that he immensely enjoyed--okonomiyaki was a wonder in and of itself, and because he could pick his own ingredients, it seemed like a pretty safe bet--and then there were other things that he would never put in his mouth again--takoyaki was good in theory, not so much in practice as far as Viktor was concerned. In some situations, he could stomach it, force it down and move on to be polite, but he would absolutely never forget the first time that he fell ill in Japan, because there was just no way to be nice about what had occurred. It still gave him nightmares, remembering the hot water with the slightly sour scent that Yuri had offered him--he was happy that his fiance had cared so much to make him a special tea, disregarding the fact that he didn’t even know what an umeboshi was--and drank it back excitedly… only to be hit with the taste of salt, melting into the sickeningly sour taste of the pickled plum, and finishing with the sweetness of honey that, on top of everything else, had him gagging unceremoniously. He had no idea how Yuri could even find it palatable, let alone swear by it as a cold and flu remedy. And what was more, even Shouri seemed to like it. Betrayed by his own flesh and blood. It certainly was a travesty.

Yurio eyed Viktor suspiciously, but chose to stay silent until Yuri returned from the bathroom to lean into his husband’s shoulder. “Hey. Why don’t we have a glass of champagne before we head over? We all know that none of us really want to be there anyway.” His eyes caught the younger of his two seniors, watched as he tore away as quickly as he could and a fine blond brow quirked in response. “You’re turning down champagne, Katsudon?”

“Ah… I can’t right now….”

It wasn’t lost on Yurio how Viktor was looking at his husband, something between worry and apology, and he knew something was up. He _just knew_ that they weren’t saying something. He was taking a stab in the dark, but when he analyzed the pig’s behaviour over the last week, he was sure that he could figure it out quite easily. Besides the facts that he’d been certain smells seemed to offend him greatly, he was back to drinking herbal tea instead of coffee, and spent more time in the bathroom than out of it, there was also that curious few hours that both Viktor and Yuri had disappeared, left Shouri behind, and didn’t bother to tell anyone where they were going. “So what’s up? Are you pregnant or something?”

And just from the look on the bicultural couple’s faces, he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. They’d both paled considerably--Yuri even looked like he might be sick again--and he was sure that their breath had caught simultaneously in their chests. He knew it was a touchy subject. The last time he’d brought it up, Viktor had just about cried in front of him, and Yuri had pretty well dissociated from the moment altogether. But he couldn’t help it. Even Shouri knew about Yuzu, and Yurio was starting to feel like the pseudo-family that he’d built up with the three of them was falling apart. Since Shouri had started school, he’d had less and less time to talk to his beloved uncle, and Yurio was feeling that loss no matter how much he refused to admit it. It didn’t matter that much though, did it? In a few months, he and Beka would have their own family to care for, and maybe he’d allow Yuri, Viktor, and their exuberant offspring to fade from his mind as well. The thought made his chest tighten, and he tried to shake it off.

“We wanted to tell you after the wedding, so that it didn’t get around and take attention away from you,” Yuri finally explained, watching his son continuing to fidget, more out of boredom now than anything else. “I’m sorry; I guess we should have said something.” He paused here, took a deep breath, and forced himself to look up; Yurio could tell that this was hard for him, just watching the emotion flicker over his face like he wasn’t even certain himself of how happy he was. All in all, he looked more terrified than anything else. “Yes, I’m pregnant.”

“We’re due mid-April,” Viktor supplied as silence fell over the room, and Yurio practically gawked while Shouri’s shifting became more and more agitated between the two couples. “And no, Shouri; this isn’t your fault. Though I’m sure your mother would still appreciate that umeboshi tea.”

At this, Yuri raised an eyebrow, and Viktor quickly summed up what had happened while he’d been in the bathroom; the Japanese man gave an almost amused smile, though it was clear he was trying to fight it back. “That does explain a lot. But no, Shouri. Don’t worry; you didn’t make me sick. That’s your little brother or sister’s fault.” The relief seemed to flood through the boy as he practically melted into his mother’s offered embrace with an ecstatic grin.

“So I’m getting a brother or sister?” the inquisitive child asked, pulling away to look up at his parents when Viktor’s hand fell to the top of his head. His eyes glittered with barely contained mirth when they both nodded the affirmative. “Yes! Can I get a brother though? I don’t know what I’d do with a sister.”

Otabek stood close to his new husband, rubbing his back in a slow and comforting manner that the Katsuki-Nikiforov trio didn’t notice as the two floundering parents tried to explain to their young son why they couldn’t just choose to give him a brother. In order to save them, the quiet Kazakh cleared his throat, drawing his husband nearer to him. “I suppose this would be a good time to tell them, Yura. About _our_ baby.”

As predicted, there was silence as the three before them turned to stare with the same bug-eyed expression. Shouri was the first one to recover, jumping up on his beloved uncle happily so his idol could lift him up against his chest. “This is great! I get to be a big brother _and_ an uncle at the same time!”

“ _Nyet, solnyshko_ ,” Yurio corrected, lowering Shouri back to the ground and tucking a stray hair behind his ear. “Uncle Beka and I are having our baby in October.”

“If we’re approved,” interjected the Kazakh as he watched Viktor and Yuri’s expressions become drastically more surprised, until he was sure that at least one of them was going to pass out. It seemed like the life preserver he’d thrown hadn’t quite reached them in their mutual state of near panic, so he continued. “We’ve been waiting three years to adopt. Hopefully this will work out.”

“Right! Of course you’re adopting….” Yuri heaved out a sigh that released all the tension within him, to the point where he sagged rather ungracefully against Viktor for support. Viktor had taken on a much more pensive look, raising a hand and pressing his index finger to his lips in thought--the blond noticed and said nothing, even if it did make him feel just a little exposed and vulnerable. “Wow, I thought for a minute there that Yurio was…. And I don’t know if I could really handle that. It doesn’t matter anyway; a family is still a family, right? I’m so happy for you!”

With that said, the five finally began to file out and head to the hall for the reception. Yuri chattered away to Otabek, telling him as many funny stories about Viktor as a new father as he could possibly recall, and said silver-haired Russian held back uncertainly, taking his former rink mate’s sleeve to hold him back. In earlier years, the brash blond would have yelled at him--this time he simply waved a slightly puzzled Otabek on, and stayed silent when Viktor’s hands cupped his shoulders gently. “Congratulations, Yura,” he murmured, his expression honestly soft as he pulled the younger man in to his chest for a hug. “You’ll be a good mother; just remember everything that Yuri has taught you about love, and you’ll be just fine.”

To say he was confused would be an understatement, but Yuri reciprocated the embrace--somewhat awkwardly--instead of challenging the retired champion. “Ah… _spasibo_.” Because Viktor had hit the nail on the head, likely without even knowing it. Yuri was the model parent that the ice tiger would strive to emulate. If he could love his child and his husband even a tenth that his long-time idol loved his family, he knew he’d be just fine.


	7. Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm all moved into my new vampire lair. I have no curtains. I've accidentally traumatized at least one neighbour already. It's all good.
> 
> Just kidding. I've been in a depressive mood basically since I started writing this chapter, and I mean... it was supposed to turn out slightly sad, but then it just.... Well, you're going to read it and find out, I guess. I won't spoil anything because that would make me a bad person and I just don't need that kind of a rep right now. Ahh, but don't worry; these things come and go, and I tend to roll with it, so hopefully things will get better before I decide to put this on hold and kill things off through one-shots to make myself feel better. 
> 
> I'm a horrible human, I don't know why you all put up with me.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting; it honestly gives me the drive I need to pull through when I just don't want to do it anymore, or when I feel like it's not worth it, or when I want to quit and never look back at this self-indulgent trash heap. I love it though--my little garbage baby.
> 
> And I pretty much just keep rambling because tbh, the number of meaningful conversations I've had with other human beings has been on the low side, seeing as I didn't have internet for four days and ended up pretty much playing Cinderella with my roommate; which was not fun, let me tell you. And I could honestly gripe for hours about all the stress I'm going through, but no one wants to hear that. That's why I'm probably the only fanfic writer that doesn't bother blogging about my crappy life and then trying to coerce my readers into stalking me on Tumblr. But I digress.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter--brought to you by salt.

Shouri had an ambitious free program planned for a nine-year-old, especially when he was competing in the regionals in the Novice B bracket for the fourth year in a row; and this time, he was going to Nationals, no doubt about it. No one could say that the boy wasn’t brave and full of charisma, putting a triple salchow into an already energetic routine. But he’d practiced hard while he was in Canada with limited time for his Uncle Yurio to help him spice up his choreography--much to his father’s chagrin, because he was the one who had choreographed the program to begin with, and it had been perfectly fine for Shouri’s level--so that he had a real shot at blowing his fellow competitors off the ice… or kicking ass, as Yurio so aptly put it. He was confident that with this program, he’d be winning for the rest of the season, especially in conjunction with his phenomenal short program. However, it would also be his first triple ever in competition, which he wasn’t really even consistent in landing yet, though his uncle had assured him that it was okay if he fell. _“Every skater falls. Your father lost a gold medal in the Sochi 2014 Olympics because he fell on his ass in front of the entire world. It happens. Just make sure you get enough rotations, because you’ll lose more points under-rotating than you will touching down.”_

It gave Shouri confidence to know that his father, a living legend, occasionally hit the ice as well, though he’d never seen him do any such thing in his lifetime. To be fair, his father would be forty by the end of the year, and he’d lately been having trouble with his knees and hips, and his mother was pushing him to see a doctor before it escalated to the point where he would need surgery to fix it. Such was the burden of a competitive figure skater, though. Shouri knew well enough what could happen if he wasn’t careful, didn’t warm up properly before and cool down properly after. If he was too hard on his body before it was ready, then he could be completely broken down before he was even an adult, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was assured that only one triple in his program wouldn’t hurt any at his age, though Viktor had admitted that he’d rather his son stuck to doubles until he was more consistent. “No triples during warm-up,” he advised in the voice that said he was in full-blown coach mode, and Shouri obeyed just because he knew how excitable his father was at a competition. Instead, he focused on practicing his combinations and a more intense section of choreography that he was finding difficult in practice lately. By the end of the six-minute warm-up, not only was Shouri heated, but there was a slight tightness beginning to build in his chest that he chose to ignore as he removed his skates in the back room to continue warming up.

“Mommy,” the boy whined quietly after completing another round of stretches and checking to make sure that his fellow competitors weren’t close enough to hear him. Yuri looked up from where he was sitting, watching the other competitors to scope out new talent--more a personal interest in the next generation of figure skaters than anything else, as well as something to pass the time while Viktor stood off to the side to converse with another coach as they waited for Shouri’s turn to skate--and tried to offer a fond smile, though the worried expression on his son’s face made it difficult. “I don’t feel good.”

His smile dropped immediately. “Come here.” As soon as Shouri was close enough, Yuri felt his forehead, stroked his cheeks--which were much paler than normal and slightly warm--with the backs of his hands. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?” The boy shook his head in response. “Headache?” Again, he shook his head and Yuri hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head back and forth to visually gauge his son’s condition. “Well, you don’t have a fever. What doesn’t feel good?”

Shouri touched his chest, his eyebrows knit together and his eyes distant, slightly glassy. “It’s hard to breathe. I’m scared.”

Yuri let out a quick exhale and pulled his son into his chest to rub his back; it sounded to him like perfectly normal pre-competition jitters, and that was fine because it was fixable. “Alright, breathe as deep as you can. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” It was a method that had worked to some degree when he’d suffered with anxiety, which he’d naturally assumed was the case with Shouri. This was a big day for him, and he knew that there was a lot of pressure on him to perform since word had gotten around already that he was going to jump a triple salchow, which would be difficult for such a young boy; this was outside the fact that both his parents were world-renowned skaters--his father even being an Olympic gold medalist--and Shouri knew what people expected of him… that is, no less than prodigal displays of perfection. It wouldn’t be so bad while he was this young, but as he grew older, especially if he made it to the Grand Prix--which, of course he was expected to--then there would be even more pressure to show the same prowess as the Nikiforov who had preceded him. Shouri wasn’t oblivious to this, Yuri knew. It had to be hard on him.

To top it off, it wouldn’t be the first time that Shouri had experienced anxiety to this degree before competition. As much as Shouri loved to skate and loved even more to show off that passion, for a little while, he’d had a hard time getting out in front of the crowds, to the point where he’d fake ill so that he didn’t have to do it. “I’m sick,” he’d say, and every time, he would get the same answer. No one was making him do anything. He could choose to compete if that was what he wanted to do, and if he didn’t, then that was okay too. In the end, he’d almost always bit the bullet and took center ice, thoroughly enjoying every second that he spent enthralling the audience like his parents before him; though there were other times that he just couldn’t do it, and Viktor and Yuri withdrew him from competition, leaving the arena to go out for dinner or see a movie. He had been too young at the time to try and push him, so instead they made sure he knew that withdrawing wasn’t a failure if it was in respect for one’s own health. There were times that it was acceptable to give in. Of course, Shouri had also grown to become a fighter. He’d inherited the competitive spirit of his mother, and he hated more than anything to have to pull out when he really didn’t want to, regardless of what might be holding him back. Most times, it came in handy, with his confidence and drive bringing him to the top tier of the podium in many of his earliest competitions.

But in a case such as this, it was a double-edged sword.

“Not working,” complained the distraught boy petulantly, burying his head into his mother’s sweater and trying his best to keep breathing deeply as he’d been instructed. Yuri tried to be as supportive as possible, cradling him as close to his body as his eleven-week bump would allow. He hadn’t been aware this early in his first pregnancy, but he knew that he’d been dreadfully sick for nearly twenty weeks and had lost weight everywhere but in his lower abdomen, so it was only natural that with this baby--whom he was able to be a little more functional with--he had managed to gain much more weight, and was already noticeably pregnant, even in such a loose fitting sweater. It made it somewhat more difficult to hold his child against him the way he wanted, though he wanted to believe that this would be sufficient for the time being.

Yuri began to follow his own advice, taking deep breaths in attempt to calm himself and his son into the same pattern, though it didn’t stop worry from creeping in to take over. “It’s alright. Deep breaths. Just remember that Daddy and I are here for you, okay?” And when he looked up, Viktor was there, having returned from speaking with one of the other coaches, giving his husband an inquisitive look. “He’s nervous,” he explained shortly, and Viktor nodded in understanding, taking Shouri’s shoulders to rub them supportively.

“Stay calm, _solnyshko_. If it’s the triple that’s bothering you, then you don’t have to do it. Just skate in a way that makes you happy, and everyone else will enjoy it as much as you do. You know that,” he offered quietly, having all the confidence in the world that his son didn’t need triples to win here. He had spent so much time practicing precise spins and expressive footwork with Yuri that, based on those elements alone, he would definitely be able to bring in enough presentation points to make up for the loss of the triple salchow. On the other hand, Shouri only had two skaters ahead of him now, leaving him just over twelve minutes to collect himself before he needed to prepare to step out onto the ice, and that was cutting it extremely close. “If you really don’t feel up to skating at all, don’t push yourself. No one is going to say anything if you want to withdraw altogether. We’ll support your decision, either way.”

“But _Dad_ ,” he wheezed, pulling away from his mother as his chest heaved. Viktor immediately took note of the flush in his son’s face, the wet streaks painting his cheeks…. The rest of him was pale white. Even his lips seemed to have lost a little colour, and his worry was immediately amplified. “What about Regionals?”

Viktor shook his head, giving his husband a hard look over the top of Shouri’s immaculately styled up-do, and Yuri pursed his lips, set his jaw, and squeezed Shouri’s hand to prepare him wordlessly. “I think you should forget about it this year, Shouri.” The look on his son’s face nearly broke the living legend’s heart--his eyes widened as they welled with fat, ugly tears, and his bottom lip began to quiver--and he reached up to rub at the back of his neck, shying away just a little. He looked so much like a younger Yuri, shattered by his careless words at the Cup of China what felt like forever ago. It made sense. Shouri had worked hard through Sectionals that year, and if he won at Regionals, then he’d be on his way to the All-Japan in the Novice B division, which really was no small feat, even for the nine-year-old Nikiforov heir. “I’m sorry, but it might be for the best; you don’t look well at all.”

From there, his condition seemed to worsen before his parents’ eyes. He was gasping for breath now, a hand instinctively flying to his chest as if it could reach right through to open his bronchial tubes and invite sweet oxygen inside; but he still looked to his mother for some kind of back up against his father. Yuri’s expression was one of near panic, the only thing he was able to do was rub Shouri’s back obsessively as if it would help. “No, Shouri; your father’s right. I think you need to sit this one out,” the Japanese man admonished as softly as he could, watching his son practically choking, and he shot Viktor a look of his own. Viktor didn’t need to be told twice before turning and running off, in enough of a blind panic that he almost knocked over one of Shouri’s eight-year-old competitors. “Daddy’s gone to get a paramedic, okay? Deep breaths, baby.”

All he could do was hold his son in his arms, rocking him back and forth while rubbing up and down his back, humming softly to try and calm the panicking boy as much as he could while they waited--because that’s what this had to be, right? A panic attack that had managed to exceed anything the he or Viktor could dispel on their own. It couldn’t possibly be anything else, because a panic attack would go away, but the alternatives…. He felt so helpless then with Shouri hunched over him, breathing so shallow now that it barely made a sound; there was nothing he could do except watch as the situation escalated, spiralling impossibly out of control. Shouri’s face was starting to cool where he nuzzled against his mother’s neck, and even after Yuri stopped rocking him, he continued to sway with a slightly limp quality. Yuri willed Viktor to hurry, feeling a terrifying numbness take over as he pulled back to see the dissociated, barely-there look in their son’s heavily lidded eyes, his lips purple and slightly parted. With surprising calm, Yuri lowered Shouri to the floor so that he didn’t collapse and end up doing more damage, and he waited for the longest few seconds of his life until the medics rushed in around them in a flurry of organized chaos. He watched as one of the medical team appeared to be taking his vitals, another was slipping a mask over his face to supply him with oxygen, and yet another was lowering a stretcher so they could hoist his body up, strap him in, and wheel him off. They were gone long before Yuri could say anything, whisked away in a flurry of panicked activity. But to where?

“We’re going to have to meet them at the hospital,” Viktor told him, but his voice sounded like they were underwater, and the world began to blur. There were hands on him--one on his wrist and the other at the small of his back--and a taller body next to him guided him up from his kneeling position on the floor, up and away. He was grateful for those hands, feeling as if his body had rusted into its position--he couldn’t have moved unless Viktor had willed it of him in that moment.

Viktor led him to the parking garage and helped him into the passenger’s seat of their car, even fastened his seatbelt for him as the numb static of panic finally began to dissipate. His husband was wordless, eerily solemn as they left for the nearest hospital, somehow managing hitting every red light on the way. Through the last of his panic, Yuri could see his husband only growing more agitated every time he had to press his foot down on the brake pedal, every time he had to stare into too-close tail lights or the offensive bright red that kept him from being at his son’s side. He cursed--loudly and in at least four different languages--when they hit a traffic jam, and for the first time ever, Yuri watched Viktor completely break. He screamed and cried and pounded on the steering wheel, and Yuri couldn’t look away; he wanted to reach out, wanted to comfort his beloved mate, but he still couldn’t feel his arms and he knew that there was nothing he could say or do to help, besides. His head was buzzing, and honestly, he wasn’t even certain anymore if he was even awake--everything held this sort of distorted whitewash, so akin to sleep haze that he just couldn’t tell the difference. He had a feeling that this was real though. Nightmares usually came in crystal clear so he could fully experience every ounce of horror they had to offer--they didn’t protect him with thick, woollen numbness pulled tight around his mind.

He blinked and Viktor was lying uselessly against the steering wheel, sobbing in the most hideous display that Yuri had ever seen from him. Licking his lips, he knew he had to try something. _Anything._ “Vitya….” He reached across the center console, albeit shakily, took his husband’s hand in both of his, and squeezed hard. It took a moment, but the Russian’s hand turned, fingers lacing with Yuri’s so he could press their palms together. It was another long moment before he lifted Yuri’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles, nuzzling against it for support. And then his lips parted for a trembling inhale so he could speak for the first time in almost twenty minutes, words that were not directed at Yuri at all.

“Please, God. Anything but this.”

Yuri didn’t specifically believe in any kind of a higher power, but as Viktor whispered these words into the stillness between them, he couldn’t help closing his eyes and praying silently for Shouri’s life. Slowly, the traffic around them began to move, but the feeling of dread refused to abate as Viktor pulled himself together enough to drive.

* * *

By the time the pair reached the hospital, things seemed relatively calm. They weren’t sure if they should be worried or comforted by this fact, but they stayed tucked together for support no matter what the outcome was. The idea that their child had already passed without them there to comfort him had crossed both their minds, but neither was willing to say anything aloud. Right now, Shouri was like Schrodinger’s cat--they had no way of knowing what had happened to him until they saw him, so for the present time, he was both alive and dead. Both parents felt the flip-flop of emotion roiling inside, in turmoil as grief and hope battled it out for dominance; hope was beginning to gain the upper hand just as they approached the receptionist and Viktor found his words. “We’re here for our son; he was brought in an ambulance earlier.”

It sounded more like a question, his voice hoarse with anguish and uncertainty, and the young woman behind the thick acrylic glass offered a look of subtle sympathy. It made Yuri clasp at Viktor’s hand hard enough that his own was trembling, knuckles whitened with the strength of his grip. “Surname, please?”

“Nikiforov,” the Russian supplied, breaking away from his husband’s side--without sacrificing the grip on his hand--to lean in against the edge of the counter with some measure of excitement. Before she could ask--before she had even had a chance to figure out the spelling--he continued, “Viktor and Yuri; our son is Shouri Viktorevich.” There was a tense moment where the receptionist went silent, tapping away at her keyboard with a very concentrated look as she searched their database. Yuri had found a way to wind himself close to his husband’s side once more, feeling like the longer it took, the more his legs began to feel like jelly again. He clung to Viktor like a lifeline, feeling his older partner’s muscles tense with frustration after a long moment of silence. “How long does it take to look up a name?” he hissed, and Yuri squeezed in attempt to bring him back. “My son could be dying while you’re taking your sweet--”

Clearly growing bitter, the receptionist interrupted him. “Identification.”

“Sorry?”

“I am prohibited from giving information regarding a patient unless it’s to his family or next of kin.”

“We’re his _parents_. He could be _dying_.”

“Identification.”

“ _Yobanaya suka_ ,” bit out the now angry father, passing both his and Yuri’s ID through the window. She barely even glanced at it before pushing it back through, her earlier look of sympathy completely washed away.

“He’s in the ICU, on the fifth floor; if you go up, they’ll give you his room number,” was her patient response, though her level gaze conveyed somewhat of a more bitter emotion; Yuri hardly paid it any mind, instead fleeing to the nearest elevator with Viktor in tow--there was reason to believe that the next time he called that woman a bitch, it would be in a language she could understand. Still, they both knew what the ICU meant, though it was the last thing they wanted to think about. On the bright side, it was indicative of the fact that the hospital staff had been at least somewhat successful in literally breathing the life back into their son. It was no small feat, and Viktor made mental note that if Shouri were able to recover, he would make sure to thank the staff who had saved his life. Lavishly.

* * *

“What were you using to treat Shouri’s asthma before this episode?” the doctor had asked, his tone more accusatory than Viktor really appreciated--it forced him to admit that he and Yuri didn’t know their only child was asthmatic, and he felt stupid saying it when there had been so many instances in the past that they’d simply passed off as something else.

"I'm sorry?" Viktor felt like a horrible parent. He sat back, did everything he could to hold himself together, though apparently had difficulty keeping the look of confusion off his face because the older man clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“I’m going to give him a prescription for Ventolin. It’s a bronchodilator that contains Albuterol; it should quickly clear up the symptoms of his asthma when they appear, though it won’t cure it, so he’ll have to be careful. He’ll still be able to skate, but I think it would be best to keep him on rest for a few days even after he’s clear to come home, and even after that, perhaps avoiding strenuous exercise and rigorous workout.”

Viktor was handed a slip of paper with some messily scrawled text across it, and he offered a deep bow with gratitude. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to us.” As he righted himself, the Russian turned to look in through the window of his son’s ICU room, where Yuri had been permitted to sit with him. He was awake now, but weighed down with monitors and a nebuliser; he stared at the ceiling, blinking languidly as Yuri held his hand, stroking the back soothingly. Relief flooded through him once again, even if the sight of his normally exuberant child looking so solemn did weigh on his chest. “I just wish we’d known before…. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

The doctor glanced over his glasses, which sat low on his nose, and his eyebrows pressed together in thought. “There’s a possibility that things could have turned out differently, yes. If he’d had an inhaler that hadn’t been working before coming here, it would have been easier to find something that _would_ help, and we could have much more easily diagnosed his status asthmaticus if you and your husband had been aware of his condition. By the time we had him here, he was already experiencing respiratory failure; and I’m sure you know what the next step after that would have been.” His tone was forceful, clearly irate though well contained, and Viktor dipped his head, feeling ashamed. The older man was harsh, but he wasn’t wrong, and Viktor found himself worrying his lip between his teeth, eyes downcast. It was just a good thing that Yuri was behind closed doors; he didn’t need to know exactly how severe Shouri’s condition had been just yet. Viktor would talk to him about it eventually, but not until they were both ready to bring it back up together and discuss what happened. For now, their focus had to be on Shouri’s recovery; they would have to visit their general practitioner to make sure that Shouri was completely healthy and to secure a regular prescription of Ventolin, or to discuss other medications that might be more effective. And there wasn’t only Shouri to consider, either. In all the turmoil and confusion, Viktor worried that the stress would somehow harm his and Yuri’s unborn child as well; no matter how much Yuri insisted that everything was fine, he couldn’t be satisfied until their next ultrasound.

“If you don’t mind… I’d like to be with them now. Is that alright?” He still couldn’t look up, even as the doctor approved his request, cautioning him to keep the visit minimal. Shouri was still weak and needed his rest if he wanted to recover with no permanent damage. In understanding, Viktor gave a weak nod, bowing to the doctor as he left, and then slipped inside the room to soundlessly look over his son while his hand dropped to squeeze Yuri’s shoulder. There were very few words exchanged before the entire room went silent except for the steady beeping of the cardiac monitor, which the bicultural couple found so cathartic in the wake of near catastrophe. Viktor eventually pulled over a chair to sit, leaning over to hold his partner and son’s hand in one of his, thumb brushing back and forth over top of Yuri’s.

Finally, Shouri shifted, drew in a breath through parted lips, and closed his eyes in attempt to thwart the hot tears that began to build up along his waterlines. Despite his best effort, they still managed to escape, streaking his cheeks as his parents watched on, once again powerless when their son made his adamant decision.

“I’m never going to skate again.”


	8. No Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is misleading. Viktor has tons of surprises for Yuri and none of them are pleasant.
> 
> I'm internally screeching because this chapter just flowed out so fast... I don't know what happened. I knew I really wanted to update today, if only because I figured everyone else would be doing it, and then it turns out that actually only one fic I was following did, though I'm sure lots of other Vikturi Week entries updated, being the last day of the challenge and all. I wish I had known about it ahead of time. It would have been great to participate, but oh well. Life goes on. There'll be other challenges and prompts and stories to write.
> 
> Since the last chapter, nothing super exciting has happened to me, so there really isn't anything to complain about.... I found out that my MBTI is INTJ, so if you're into that.... Uhm. I finally bought another pair of figure skates and it looks like I'll be back on the ice for the first time in a whole decade on Sunday. I've been wearing them around the apartment because my downstairs neighbours are loud, but skate guards on hardwood are louder. Also to get use to the weight. And I discovered that I can, in fact, touch the back of my head with my foot. So that's a thing. Uhm.... I'm currently trying to order pizza. I had a candlelit bath last night while reading Vikturi smut. That was fun. And I also sat in bed pretending that I have someone who would have willingly brought me coffee and bacon all day if he existed.
> 
> How was everyone else's Valentine's Day?
> 
> Also, continued thanks to all my Stalkers--that's what I'm calling you all now; embrace it--for all the wonderfully supportive, insightful, and engaging comments! I always look forward to reading and responding to each one.
> 
> EDIT: For whatever reason, AO3 is giving me trouble when trying to respond to some comments, so I'll try my best to respond to everything I can, and just keep trying on the ones that I can't. If it continues, I'm going to have to raze Hell.

The morning of the sixteenth week, fourth day of Yuri’s third pregnancy began somewhat differently than those of the past few weeks: head-first in the porcelain throne as his stomach emptied itself until he was dry heaving painfully. He spent much longer than he had to brushing his teeth and rinsing with mouthwash before Viktor dragged himself out of bed. The older man rubbed his eyes as he practically flopped himself onto his husband’s shoulders to mumble something incoherently against Yuri’s neck, and kissed the exposed skin just above the neckline of his lover’s nearly too-small t-shirt; Viktor moved up to nip playfully at the shell of his ear, and Yuri shuddered. It was too early and Yuri still felt queasy, so he had to decline Viktor’s most generous suggestion; though he was all for bathing together in the stand-up shower that was almost too cramped for them and their unborn child together. Apparently the baby was only supposed to be the size of an avocado--according to the pregnancy tracker he’d downloaded on his phone--but Yuri already felt like he’d swallowed a whole watermelon from the way he’d ballooned out. He’d seen women at sixteen weeks with these beautiful little bellies, hardly even a stretch mark in sight, and then he looked at himself and wondered how in the Hell he’d managed this hideous amount of weight gain… besides rarely experiencing morning sickness and indulging his cravings when Baby Katsuki-Nikiforov insisted on katsudon at least every other night. Or so he claimed, anyway. Not that it really mattered what he ate and how much weight he gained as a result. Yuri could feel self-conscious all he wanted, but Viktor was always there to coax him out, rubbing his palms lovingly over the space where their child currently resided. Viktor loved Yuri’s body, no matter how many new stretch marks ripped bright red across his skin, or how his cheeks, butt, and thighs had noticeably filled out; Viktor still made Yuri feel confident and beautiful, even after all this time.

“Maybe it’s actually twins,” the Russian joked, cradling his husband’s body to him--his back to Viktor’s chest so he could rest his chin on Yuri’s shoulder--swaying them back and forth when his excitement really just wanted to pick Yuri up and swing him around. He was beaming brightly, kissing across Yuri’s shoulder as he allowed the anticipation to well up; because as scared as he was that something would once again go horribly wrong, there was also a swell of warmth and pride in his chest. Of all the things Viktor had done in his life, of all his experiences and memories, the most treasured were those that brought him to Yuri, and those that had made him the father to his beloved’s children. There was nothing more rewarding than raising their son together, seeing him healthy and happy and thriving…. He was so proud of Shouri, loved him and Yuzu more than he could even put to words; already he felt as much toward the new baby as well. It gave him a sort of youthful energy like he hadn’t felt in years at least, and he decided that meant that there was some teasing in order for that morning. “Let’s do it, Yuri! Twins! Twin _girls_. We’ll name them Yuriko and Viktoria!”

Yuri, however, was still feeling the tail end of the hormone-induced first trimester mood swings, and after throwing up rather violently for the first time in days, he was absolutely _miserable_. His stomach still felt the strain of turning itself inside out while his throat continued to burn hot with sour bile. And even though he’d brushed fiercely, tried to drown it with Listerine, there was still that faint, lingering taste that stubbornly clung to the back of his mouth. “That’s not even funny, Viktor. Don’t say things like that.” Viktor whined, seemingly undeterred by his husband’s irritation, and Yuri turned to frown at him, poking at the top of his mate’s head. “We’re too old for twins. Can you imagine chasing two destructive toddlers around with your hips and knees the way they are? I mean, you remember how exhausted we were with Shouri and he was on his own.”

The Russian gave a noncommittal grunt, turning away to start washing his hair while Yuri just rolled his eyes and applied the loofah to his lover’s back. “Celine Dion did it,” he muttered petulantly, though they both knew Yuri was right. Twins at their age would be difficult. Not impossible. Just _difficult_. Yuri had no doubt in his mind that they _could_ do it, and that they’d do the best that they possibly could, just as they had for Shouri who had come when they were least expecting it. At the same time, twins were the last thing he wanted now. He was well aware of his age--thirty-six in four weeks, wow!--and the doctor he was seeing was already impressing on him all the risks that would come with a normal pregnancy at this age, without even taking his gender into account. But then his gender actually was a problem in conjunction with his age, posing substantial risk as it was. The doctor didn’t have to tell him what could happen, even if he were careful, stayed on bed rest, submitted to as many tests as they could pile on to make sure the baby was still thriving; no, Yuri was already aware of that as well. He was so used to this that he knew the doctor would try to coerce him into an elective caesarean even before he actually tried, repeating to him over and over how it could save his child’s life, and his own. The only reason Yuri hadn’t stopped seeing him was simply that the next specialist who actually would be qualified to deal with his unique situation was hours away in Tokyo, and he had an impressive amount of c-sections under his belt--in other words, there was no point in leaving one scalpel-happy bully for another, more accredited one. At least he’d seen this doctor in the past with Shouri and Yuzu, and he’d been willing to assist Yuri in preparing for a homebirth both times, even offering to make himself available should Yuri need to transition into the hospital for any reason.

He’d never really liked the impersonal, sterile, businesslike atmosphere of the hospital, anyway. All the nurses he’d met with were rigid and humourless, and looked at him like he had a disease--like his child was a tumour that needed to be extracted. It made him uncomfortable. Nine years ago, he’d been out with Viktor for dinner when he’d experienced what he thought was preterm labour at around thirty-two weeks, and without waiting, his partner had taken him straight to the hospital--much closer than home, he’d rationalized to a very resistant and nearly irate Yuri. Just being there made Yuri feel anxious. There was a nurse poking and prodding at him in a way that was not at all gentle while another floated around in the background, chattering away to Viktor in a way that Yuri found far too affectionate for his own liking, and the OB/GYN he was being interrogated by then told him that what he was experiencing were just false contractions--perfectly normal Braxton Hicks that some mothers experienced at this point in their pregnancy--but he’d have to wait to leave. Another doctor wanted to examine him as well because, honestly she had never seen anything like this, and the entire ward found him fascinating. It was invasive. He didn’t want a crowd of people gawking at him, touching him in places that he felt were only for his then fiance, just to tell him that things weren’t progressing the way they wanted before filling him with drugs and shipping him off to the OR.

That was his worst fear.

Barring actual emergency, he adamantly refused to have a c-section. He knew that if, by some miraculous force of nature, there actually _were_ a twin hiding inside him, he would have no say in the matter whatsoever, and that scared him more than anything else. Yuri had faith that he could do it himself; he wanted to at least have the chance to try before the choice was taken away altogether. He’d had Shouri at home with a doula, had laboured all day and all night with Viktor kneading his lower back through the worst of contractions, rubbing soothing aromatherapy oils into his skin, singing lullabies to him in soft-spoken Russian, and holding him as he knelt with his head on his mate’s shoulder throughout the whole second stage as they brought the product of their love into the world together. Yuri remembered it being comfortable, quiet, intimate, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way; even if it had been extremely slow, painful, and physically exhausting. It had been perfect with Shouri, and he wanted the same with this baby as well--nothing short of perfection.

“Anyway, you’ve already seen the first ultrasound; I’m pretty sure that there’s only one, and I don’t think anything we did could possibly have changed that,” Yuri retorted haughtily, because he honestly didn’t care what Celine Dion had or hadn’t done, and Viktor’s teasing was far from appreciated this morning. They had a busy day ahead of them, with an early morning sonogram, then several hours of last minute touch-ups before the Rostelecom Cup, and the last night of Shouri’s school festival which featured a play that apparently they absolutely had to see. Shouri was being sneaky and wouldn’t tell them exactly why, but he _had_ let it slip that they were _really_ , really going to love it. And if all that wasn’t enough, he then had to pack three skaters, Viktor, Shouri and his watermelon into a van to fly from Fukuoka to Moscow so that they would have enough time to practice at the Megasport Arena before competition--which was in two days for their pairs skaters, and three for their senior Men's skater. Thinking about the days ahead had Yuri’s head reeling, so he decided to take it all one step at a time--first and foremost was the highly anticipated sixteen week ultrasound. “I’m more interested in what colour we’re painting the nursery,” the Japanese man mused, and Viktor perked up under the warm spray, peeking over his shoulder.

He hummed, turning to face his husband carefully so that he didn’t accidentally bump him, and rested his hands on the taut skin of Yuri’s protruding abdomen. He stroked over it lovingly, warmth in the soft smile that crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes. Viktor treasured these moments, stole as many of them as he could; he felt so protective over both his husband and child, and hoped that somehow just being closer to them would make things better. Besides that, they’d already decided that it was Viktor’s turn to name the baby, and he wanted to bond with it, make sure he picked the right one. To him, that meant taking every opportunity he could get his hands on--literally--to touch, stroke, talk and sing to the perfect arc of Yuri’s bump. “I already know it’s a girl. We’re naming her Viktoria.”

Yuri huffed, his irritation somewhat abated with his husband’s gentle hands on his swollen middle; with the size of Viktor’s hands, the bump almost looked smaller than Yuri felt it was, and he was forced to wonder if his perception was actually off. He watched his lover’s hands, licked his lips, and tried to hold some semblance of his morning’s sour mood as if it would keep Viktor in his place. “We are _not_ naming her Vik--”

“Why? You can have the patronymic. Viktoria Yurevna Nikiforova. Sounds pretty--”

“Viktor.” Yuri grabbed his husband’s wrist with one hand, pushed sopping coal black hair off his forehead with the other. Deep mahogany-coloured eyes matched to cerulean, wide and almost uncertain, and Yuri watched his husband blanch immediately, likely mirroring his own expression. “Viktor, wait…. Stop.”

There was panic behind his words, spoken quickly as his hands instinctively moved to his lover’s hips, in case he needed to support the younger man there in a standing position. “Is the baby alright? Please tell me she’s--”

“I felt it.” As soon as his hair was back out of his face, Yuri let his fingers slide over the top of his bump, then back and forth over the underside. He was grinning from ear to ear, pressing his hand closer to see if he could feel the very faint rolling sensations from the outside, only giving Viktor an apologetic upward glance when there was nothing. Still, to be able to feel the life inside him, feel proof that it was there and thriving… it was so relieving. Viktor leaned in as Yuri’s head tipped back, and in perfect unison they came together for a long, patient kiss, deepened when Yuri’s lips parted, and Viktor pulled him closer. The taste of his mate’s mouth made him feel heady, and he could sense his lover had been alleviated of the tension that had built up in that split second. Slowly, they came back down, standing with their lips brushing, noses touching, foreheads bumped, basking in each other’s presence.

They stayed like that until Viktor shifted to feel over their child with softly shaking hands, his laugh breathy. “Ahh, _zhuchka_ …. Don’t let Mama scare Papa like that ever again. I thought something bad happened,” he chided gently, bending to rest his head on Yuri’s shoulder, visibly sagging in relief.

“I didn’t mean to.” Apologetically, Yuri combed his finger’s through Viktor’s hair and kissed his neck. “I was just surprised. The last time I felt it was nine years ago…. I guess I just got excited.” He went silent, Viktor humming something out in response that he couldn’t quite make out, and finally he reached past his husband to turn the shower off. “We’d better get ready to go. Shouri will be late.” All he was given in response was a long, indignant groan from his husband as he tried to shift away, pushing the shower door open in attempt to slip out of his grip. “Come on, Viktor…. You’re being such a baby.” This time he whined, and Yuri ended up dragging his clingy husband out of the shower as he stayed steadfast. Yuri sighed with emphasized exasperation, though he really didn’t mind all that much; actually there was something he found so comforting, knowing that all this time Viktor had never really changed in essence. He was older, had lost a little bit of the definition of muscle in his body, looked amazing with day-old stubble peppered across his jaw, and perhaps… just _maybe_ his hair was _slightly_ thinner than it had been when they’d first met…. But he was still Viktor.

Yuri wondered idly if he had changed at all, wondered what Viktor would say if he asked. Looking back, he remembered saying once that he had changed--that love had changed him. _“It’s made me stronger, and I’m going to prove it at the Grand Prix Final--with a gold medal!”_ Yeah… he’d said it on national television as well…. But had he actually changed at all? Sure, he managed to control his anxiety, curb it before it completely consumed him and talked him into retiring altogether, which allowed one last season up to the World’s Championship in attempt to bring his fiance a medal that he would finally agree to kiss…. But had he actually changed?

He couldn’t help feeling that the self-confidence, the enthusiasm, the drive had always been there; he remembered times long before Viktor where he’d been able to be genuinely happy, smiling freely, and honestly enjoyed life. He was certain that if he ever had the patience to go back far enough on Phichit’s Instagram, he’d find all the pictures of them screwing around in the arena when they were supposed to be stretching or warming up or practicing. He’d find the video where he’d photobombed Phichit’s message to his fans, skating by with a perfectly dramatic lunge, bent all the way back with one arm tossed in the air while his other held the back of his hand against his forehead with a very loud, _“UGH!”_ Phichit had about peed himself laughing and dropped his phone on the ice before the video ended; even now if he were to call up Phichit and ask, _“Do you remember that video?”_ the Thai skater would still dissolve into laughter without needing any context at all, punctuating it with phrases such as, _“That was the best!”_ and _“Dude, your face!”_

One time, Yuri had waited for him to sigh with the last of his laughter, and then proclaimed, _“I was definitely on fleek.”_ which had Phichit immediately jumping on him, to save him from blissful ignorance.

 _“No, no, no. Listen up, Yuri. You were ‘on point’. Fleek is like… an eyebrow thing.”_ Yuri had taken a breath and was about to ask him what the Hell the difference was--very dryly--before Phichit waved him off dismissively. _“Nah man. If you didn’t get the breadsticks, and you don’t like Uptown Funk or Hotline Bling, and you still can’t admit that John Cena is the next Chuck Norris, then I can’t help you.”_

_“I think there’s a word for people like you.”_

_“Memelord?”_

_“Certifiable.”_

No, in conclusion, he hadn’t changed all that much at all. He was a little more languid than he’d been in his youth--not that he felt old or anything, because he was still only in his mid-thirties--and he didn’t have to struggle with his anxiety the same as he had before; but the essence of himself as a person, which had been for so long overshadowed by his faults, was still the same. Love hadn’t actually changed him. It just drew out a true sense of self, and gave him something to strive for. If anything had actually changed, it was his ability to trust and empower himself--he didn’t need Viktor for that, though clinging to him for support wasn’t something he at all disliked. He’d also learned to allow himself to be weak sometimes, just because he knew it made Viktor feel appreciated.

* * *

The pair was incredibly silent as the technician pressed firmly into Yuri’s lower abdomen with the wand, easily finding the baby where it was curled up inside him, looking much more like a small human than it had in the last sonogram. Viktor held Yuri’s hand as they stared wordlessly at the screen together, watching as their offspring stretched out lazily before curling back up. Viktor laughed then despite himself because--and he swore this up and down--it really looked like the little bugger was laying there with its hands behind its head. “Either she’s very comfortable and plans to stay for a while or she’s practicing for her first time being arrested,” he chimed, grinning even when he could feel his husband’s glare burning holes in him.

Viktor had been pretty good up until then, he thought. Actually, he was proud of himself. There were so many times that he could have said something that he knew would have his husband riled up, but he’d held back. Yuri couldn’t have been feeling very well--Viktor could tell just from the way he’d leaned his head against the window in the car to breathe out long and deep with his eyes closed. At a red light, he’d reached over to brush his beautiful mate’s dark hair off his forehead and noted that he _did_ feel a little warm. Yuri had ended up falling asleep on the way to drop Shouri off at school, which was almost unheard of. He was always out of the car to give Shouri his bento and a kiss on the cheek before their son could run off to find his friends before homeroom. That morning, Viktor had rolled to a stop as carefully as he could, picked each of Yuri’s fingers off Shouri’s lunch, and stepped out in his husband’s place. He’d decided to try his best to take it easy on Yuri, with a casually footnoted, _No promises_.

“Our baby is _not_ growing up to become a felon, Viktor,” Yuri hissed, but Viktor’s irritating amicability refused to abate, so he tried again. “Anyway, you don’t even know that it’s a girl. What are you going to do if it’s a boy and you’re giving him a complex?”

“Viktoria is a girl. She is my little _knyazhna_. My _zhuchka_.”

“You don’t know that; stop calling it things.”

“But _Yuuuri_ \--”

The technician busied herself taking measurements and assessing the fetus’s health while the couple bickered back and forth; she couldn’t help smiling as they argued over the gender of their child, which somehow escalated into Viktor being subject to dinner _and_ dishes when they returned home from Moscow next week, and finally she stepped back in to save the day when Viktor started whining again. “Would you like to find out the sex, then?”

“Yes!” They immediately answered, perfectly synchronized. The technician nodded shortly, moved the wand around to the baby’s bottom to try and get a good view of its genitals, which proved somewhat difficult with the way it seemed to shy away, flailing in such a way that the image was distorted, and they couldn’t honestly tell what they were looking at anymore.

It must have been the excitement. The promise of becoming a father again had Viktor feeling all fluttery, and he honestly just could not stop himself. “She takes after you, Yuri. Even after ten years, you still cover my eyes and tell me not to look.”

“Wh-- I do not-- _Don’t say things like that in public_!”

“But we’re not _in_ public, _lyubovnik_.”

“Viktor, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want people knowing about our--”

“There we go. All settled,” the technician broke in again, and all squabbling immediately ceased.

They both looked up again, and Viktor’s face fell with complete and total disappointment. “That’s--”

“Definitely a Nikiforov,” Yuri finished for his stricken mate, squeezing his hand supportively. Honestly, it didn’t matter to Yuri at all what the gender of their baby was. He would have been perfectly happy to decorate the whole nursery in neutral colours, pick out a unisex name, and be surprised when it was born. As long as it was healthy and thriving, Yuri was happy. That was what mattered. Viktor, however, had seemingly had his heart set on a little Nikiforova. A waiflike platinum-haired girl with dark, almond-shaped eyes, who would grow up to have her mother’s rounded cheeks and plush lips, and she would be beautiful. “What was the name you picked for a boy?”

Viktor stared blankly at the screen as he overcame his dissatisfaction with a long sigh, leaving Yuri in anticipation. He looked like he might actually take it seriously this time, and the Japanese man was honestly intrigued to find out what the name he’d picked for their son would be. “His name is Viktor Viktorevich. You didn’t believe in Viktoria, so I’m taking your patronymic away.”

“Viktor-- No, never mind. I'm actually not surprised.”

Viktor didn’t answer, just stared thoughtfully at the screen. He really hadn’t thought of a boy’s name at all, and to be honest, he hadn’t been serious about Viktoria as a girl’s name. His choice for a girl had been Evgenia, even though he knew it would be difficult for her classmates to pronounce her full first name--the diminutive was Zhenya, and he figured that wouldn’t be too bad at all. There was no special meaning behind it, no real reason--Evgenia was just a name that he really liked, and always had. For a boy, it was harder. For whatever reason, he’d bounced around so many different names, but none of them had felt like _the_ name. All he knew was that he wanted it to be Russian, and it still had to be easy to pronounce for the Japanese-speaking community. It had crossed his mind to use the masculine version of his chosen female name, but there was something about Evgeni on his son that just didn’t sit quite right in his mind. When he’d finally decided to throw in the towel, he left fate up to a name generator which promptly spit out the name _Nikifor_ and he laughed just thinking about what Yuri would do to him if he tried to put Nikifor Nikiforov on their son’s birth certificate. After that, he decided he’d hit the button one more time and take the next name seriously--it came up with Dmitri, and knowing that the diminutive was Dima, he was alright with that. He really had never committed himself to the name, but it was good enough, and he still had months left to reconsider if need be.

Now, looking at his son up on the monitor, he knew it was wrong. The baby didn’t look like a Dmitri or a Nikifor or an Evgeni… not even a Viktor Viktorevich, much to his chagrin. Viktor bit his lip, huffed, shifted his weight back and forth from one leg to the other while he filtered through every name he could remember growing up in St. Petersburg, and in all the different websites he’d scoured, the name lists, the databases, the Top 100s…. Yuri stared up at him, wide-eyed behind his glasses and waiting in silent anticipation, until Viktor finally nodded. The action was slightly solemn, but definitive. He knew. “His name is Nikita.”

“Nikita?”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s fine. I love it. If that’s what you really want, then that’s his name.”

“It’s derived from the Greek Nike, which is the name of their Winged Goddess.” Viktor smiled to himself, squeezed Yuri’s hand hard in his own as a strange feeling of déjà vu washed over him. It was almost like they’d had this exact conversation before. “So… I guess in some way, it means _victory_.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now that it's out, I can finally show off little Nikita's art. As an adult. And because of this, Shouri is getting adult art as well. I mean-- Art of him, as an adult... not... adult art.... Fuck. You know what I mean.
> 
> http://orig02.deviantart.net/8458/f/2017/039/2/c/nikita_by_kveria-daye55m.png


	9. Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick again, so this is definitely not the chapter that I expected or promised. I should apologize for any disappointment, but I won't because I'm an ass most of the time. 
> 
> On a happier note, at the beginning of this chapter, I have something exciting to share. Beautiful fan art! You can find that [here](http://kepitingbesi.tumblr.com/post/157268833279/im-make-a-fanart-for-this-fic-bc-i-love-it), and just... look at it, omg. I love it so much.
> 
> Uhm, other than that, [Older Shouri](http://pre02.deviantart.net/0f86/th/pre/i/2017/050/f/6/shouri_by_kveria-daz7qqc.jpg). And try to enjoy this chapter as well. I swear to fucking God, I will get the Otayuri baby into the next one--just considering how this chapter panned out, I didn't think it would be right.
> 
> PS. Just some trivia, but people really seem to be going nuts over my art of Viktor in lingerie. What's that about? o.o

The crowd that had gathered was quite impressive, for a play that was being put on by a drama club made up of nine-year-olds. Viktor and Yuri were boxed in on either side by long rows of people, but they were lucky enough to have been reserved seats front and center. Not only could they see everything on the stage without having to duck around other people, but if either of them needed to escape for any reason at all, there was no one to hold them back. Of course, they both hoped that there wouldn’t be any need to leave in the middle--they wanted to see what it was that Shouri was so excited to show them, while also supporting him.

Viktor checked the time on his phone while Yuri fiddled with the video camera, making sure all the settings would be optimal for capturing the performance for later viewing--it would be the perfect thing to show Shouri’s future romantic conquests when he finally brought them home. Incriminating evidence of how adorable he was as a child. It had been Viktor’s brilliant idea, and Yuri had simply gone along with it excitedly, mostly because he wanted to keep as many mementos of their son’s youth as possible. Yuri still wasn’t ready to think of their son growing up and dating, because that came way too close to him falling in love, getting married, having kids of his own, becoming an adult and leaving them. It way too overwhelming right now. He was only nine, and when Yuri thought about it like that-- _only nine_ \--it felt like he hadn’t had nearly enough time with his firstborn son. With that thought in mind, he heaved out a long breath, both wistful and sad. It prompted Viktor to look up from the game he was playing, head cocked inquisitively.

“He’s so big, isn’t he?” Yuri was smiling up over the lens of the camera where Shouri peeked out from between the curtains, stage right, wide-eyed as he surveyed the turnout. When his eyes landed on his parents, front and center, his face immediately flushed, only seeming to darken as Yuri and Viktor both waved enthusiastically, drawing an unwarranted amount of attention to themselves and their furiously blushing son. He was pouting as Viktor made a motion as if he was using an inhaler, and tried dramatically to act out Shouri’s breathing exercises. The boy made a face and reeled back just a little in disgust--he didn’t understand and he thought his father was insane, a fact that hit Viktor like a ton of bricks as their son retreated back behind the curtain. “…you scared him away.”

“Yuri, I don’t think he loves me anymore,” Viktor responded flatly, blinking at the break in the curtains with a very upright posture, his expression one of mild dismay. Yuri couldn’t help but laugh--the nap he’d had earlier at the arena had done wonders for his mood--because what his husband was saying was absolutely ridiculous. He tried to assure Viktor that Shouri did love him, but that he was probably embarrassed with Viktor’s wild flailing. Viktor wasn’t buying it. But then soon enough, Shouri reappeared with his inhaler and a quizzical expression, at which Viktor clapped his hands together delightedly and nodded with much enthusiasm. Shouri gave a thumbs up and disappeared again in a flash.

The next time they saw him was after the curtains were drawn and the play began. Viktor and Yuri both noticed right off the bat what it was that Shouri was so excited about. The drama club was doing a very interesting modern rendition of Rapunzel, and without even needing to see him on stage, they knew who was playing the role of the leading lady. The production was brilliant and as humorous as a troupe of nine-year-old actors could be--Viktor and Yuri found themselves quite engaged in the story the whole time, and spent so much time laughing even when most of the audience members didn’t get it. For instance, there was a scene where Rapunzel was rescued by her Prince. When the Prince--who was played by one of Shouri’s female classmates--climbed to the top of the tower and saw Shouri sitting in the window, she immediately exclaimed, _“But you’re a boy!”_ And here, Shouri shot back, quick as a whip, _“Actually, my costume was designed to suggest both male and female genders.”_ Yuri had to hand the camera over to Viktor because he could not stop laughing. The rest of the audience had given deft chuckles, but Yuri laughed so hard he thought he’d have to leave so he didn’t disturb the people around him.

In the end, it was nothing fancy, the kids spoke pretty robotically throughout the whole play, and one of the boys kept forgetting his lines. After the third time, he was given a script to read off and he did just fine. Viktor remembered muttering to Yuri about how he had a strong future as a news anchor, and Yuri had shushed him while trying to stifle his giggles. There were many jokes made that Yuri and Viktor could clearly identify as something their child would say, and concluded that the kids had all had a hand in writing the script with the teacher who had helped the kids in their endeavour. They’d enjoyed it immensely, and it was clear to them that the kids had enjoyed the time and effort they put into it. When they all came out to bow to the audience and thank them for their patience and support, there was so much pride in their eyes, each of them beaming brilliantly.

Shouri had sworn off skating. He hadn’t even been to the rink in almost a whole month now. His skates hung in the closet at home, depressingly neglected, because the more his parents had asked, pushed, begged, and _pleaded_ with him not to give up, the more he intentionally distanced himself from it. He quit all his dance classes as well, and focused all his time on school and clubs. At first, his parents were extremely distressed by this--of course they wanted him to focus on school so that he could go to a good junior high, and then eventually a good high school, an even better university--but it was also so important to them to be able to share their love of skating with their son as they had for the last nine and a half years. They didn’t understand. He’d been taking his inhaler regularly, had a nebulizer in case of emergency, and he’d been doing breathing exercises to help strengthen his lungs as directed by his doctor. He could run around and play with his friends with little to no trouble at all, and the last time he’d had a bad asthma attack was during a game of baseball where he’d forgotten to take his medication beforehand. Even that had been cleared up rather quickly with a couple of puffs off his rescue inhaler. They had a humidifier for his bedroom while he slept at night, so that the dry air produced by the central heating system didn’t irritate his airways, and they’d honestly never had to use the nebulizer at all so far.

The bicultural couple had sincerely hoped that once Shouri had better control of his asthma, he’d return to skating, but instead he left his parents beside themselves so he could… pursue acting…? That was what it looked like from their perspective, anyway. It was hard for them to accept, but if it was what he wanted… and it wasn’t like he was bad at it…. No, he was actually a very _good_ actor…. It still hurt. Especially when he told them that he wasn’t going to Moscow to watch the skating. He was going to see his uncles and his cousin, who just happened to have planned their trip to visit Yurio’s grandfather during the Rostelecom, where Viktor and Yuri had students competing. It definitely wasn’t because Yurio _wanted_ to see Viktor and anything that touched him or was created out of his bodily fluids, or because he was curious about Yuri’s pregnancy. None of that at all. That was just when he could get a flight. Not that anyone actually bought what he’d said over the Skype call, especially when Beka chimed in that Yura had told him he couldn’t wait to show their son off because he was honestly _way_ cuter than Shouri had been as a baby, and was already going to be way cuter than whatever other offspring they produced. Clearly, Shouri didn’t mind, though--he was only going because he didn’t have to be at the arena if he didn’t want to, and although Viktor and Yuri found this entirely distressing, they didn’t object. The last thing they wanted to do was put too much pressure on their son and end up driving him away from the sport completely.

* * *

Shouri didn’t sleep the first night after they disembarked the plane in Moscow. Between the too-dry air in their room at the Ritz-Carlton, his mother’s gentle snoring echoing from the adjoined bedroom, and the unfamiliar feeling of a foreign mattress, there was no way he could settle himself. He wanted to go crawl in between his parents, but over the last couple of months, that had become increasingly more difficult for all involved. Yuri found it easiest now to sleep on his left side, cushioned all around by pillows, including one between his thighs for reasons unbeknownst. By the time Yuri had finished finding a place he liked on the mattress and arranging his pillows, there was hardly any room for Viktor even in a King-sized bed, so he ended up tangled around his husband rather awkwardly. This had resulted exactly one time in Shouri being squashed between his mother’s back and his father’s chest while Viktor practically made a Panini out of him, grill marks and all. He had an iron grip and clearly wanted to be as close to Yuri as possible, even at Shouri’s expense, it seemed. The other was wasn’t so bad--sleeping close to his mother’s chest and bordered by his father, because Shouri always needed to be between them for security. The upside was that his mother was a much nicer cuddler, and he’d nuzzle into Shouri’s hair, humming until he fell asleep. The downside was that Yuri had begun snoring lately, and with the way his stomach was rounding out, there really wasn’t any room for Shouri against his mother’s body anymore--that spot in between his parents belonged to Nikita now, and while he really was excited to become a big brother, he was a little jealous that his place had been stolen from him.

At some point during the late night, he got up and went to knock on the door of his parents’ Senior Men’s skater, Jonathan Kang, who was one of the people who had inspired him to skate competitively, and was eventually allowed in to share the bed with him--it would have been weird if Shouri hadn’t known the Korean-born American man his whole life. To Shouri, he provided all the comfort of an older brother, even if he wasn’t great at giving profound life lessons or sagely insight into the boy’s circumstances. All in all, he was actually rather quiet and the only thing he could really hold a conversation about was skating. Shouri didn’t mind that much, even now that he’d quit, though he knew he’d have to go through the perfunctory explanation of _why_ he was quitting; because he knew with Jonathan it was going to come up sooner rather than later. He was just happy that it didn’t end up being that night. Jonathan was too tired to bother with questions, instructed Shouri to keep on his own side of the bed and not to move around too much or make any noise--it was all business before the two turned away from each other and fell asleep.

The next morning was chaos, however. Shouri was awoken to frantic banging on the door, and a very upset Korean-American who dragged himself out of bed only to be greeted by his coaches, rightfully panicked over their missing son. Shouri hadn’t even thought to wake one of them up or leave a note--they were going to be busy tomorrow with practice, so he figured he’d have the courtesy to give them their rest. Instead, he’d upset his parents and faced a lecture over breakfast that continued in the car ride to the arena, and irritated remarks that stretched on throughout the day. Alarmingly, Shouri chose to ignore all of it--he wouldn’t apologize or even acknowledge that he’d done something wrong. When it came up, he’d look away and pout, pointedly blocking his parents out and hoping they would give up; the only thing this did was make them much more insistent and much more exasperated with him. Yuri was beside himself, nearly panicking as he worried over what they might have done wrong to elicit such a response from their son; Viktor, at the end of the day, was _angry_ , because he knew that Shouri knew better, and he honestly could not fathom where this attitude was coming from all of a sudden. They’d already talked about how they needed to make sure Yuri was stress-free for the safety of the baby, no matter what Yuri cited from the studies he’d been reading.

“Do you want them to die?” Viktor accused harshly, holding his despondent son by the arms, knelt down to his level so he could make eye contact. Shouri only frowned and turned his head, glaring off at something in the corner of the locker room. “Shouri, I’m serious. Do you remember when we sat down with you and talked about how dangerous this is for your mother? Because we weren’t just making that up--it was _very_ real, Shouri, and we have to be especially careful this time. Do you understand?” For almost a full minute, Shouri remained steadfast, but then he sighed and gave a curt nod while still refusing to look at his father. It was a start though, and Viktor breathed out with some form of relief. “I know that’s not your intention, but you have to know that Mama is hurt by how you’ve been acting, right? He thinks that he’s done something wrong. If that’s the case, Shouri, please talk to us. We’ve always listened before. Why would now be any different?”

The biracial boy snapped then, ripped his arms back out of his father’s grip to cross them over his chest. “You don’t listen at all! You made me come to this stupid rink after I said I don’t want to be near the ice ever again!” He sucked in a deep breath, and Viktor’s expression hardened, jaw setting as he watched his son gearing himself up. “And nobody asked me if I even wanted a little brother, anyway. I’d rather have a dog. How come I can’t have a dog, but you and Mom can have a baby? It would be less dangerous for Mom to have a dog, so maybe we should get rid of Nikita so that Mom doesn’t have to die because of him.”

The outburst plainly shocked Viktor, whose face tightened even more, eyebrows drawing together and mouth curving into a very blatantly defined frown. “Shouri. _Enough_.” The hardened nature of Viktor's tone as he stood to assert his dominance over the boy quite plainly was out of character for him. Both he and Yuri were very relaxed as parents, both loving and playful, but when it came down to enforcing the rules, it always seemed to be soft, sweet, gentle Yuri that stepped up. This time, Viktor put his foot down and Shouri was more than just a little shocked by this. "I don't ever want to hear that out of your mouth again. You _never_ wish someone would go away, because what if one day they do and you have to live with the fact that it was what you wanted? How would you feel knowing you had killed a person with your words, Shouri? Though in this case, it's not just you who'll be hurt by it. Do you understand what happens if we get rid of Nikita, Shouri?"

Of course he didn't. He was nine years old and he had no idea where babies came from or how they were made. All he understood was that Nikita had to stay inside his mother until he was big enough to come out, because that's how it had been explained to him. Viktor knew this well enough, shifted back and forth, transferring his weight from one leg to the other, and then groaned, shoving a hand through his hair with exasperation before he sat down on a nearby bench, instructing Shouri to sit with him. "Listen to me, _solnyshko_. If we get rid of Nikita, that means that he'll die, and...." Again, his fingers found their way through his hair, resting his forehead on the heel of his hand as he tried to think of the best way to put this to his young son without traumatizing him. "You know how we have the shrine for Yuzu, right?"

"Yeah, in the spare room."

" _Solnyshko_ , you were only a few years old, so you wouldn't remember, but Yuzu...." He stopped again, took a deep breath and released it slowly, calming into something that was much more melancholy than enraged. "Yuzu came out too soon, when he wasn't supposed to. That's why he lives in the shrine, because it's a spirit house. If he had stayed inside like he was supposed to, you would have had a little brother or sister. We don't really know which one."

Shouri glanced up at his father quickly, uncertainly, then hung his head as he twirled a finger through the end of his ponytail. "Oh. But if we call Yuzu a him, then wouldn't he be my brother?"

"A baby isn't a boy or a girl until it’s been inside its mother for a certain amount of time. It has to have time to decide what it wants to be, and when we lost Yuzu, he hadn't quite decided yet. It was just easier for Mama to pretend that he was a boy and give him a name, so that's what we did." He set his jaw, tried to swallow down a well of emotion as he rubbed over his eyes with his free hand, visibly agitated by this whole conversation. He tried so hard to stop his voice from shaking audibly, but that just seemed to make it all the more obvious. "It was so hard for us, _solnyshko_. It's still hard. It always will be. We love you because you're our son, and we love Yuzu even though he didn't make it, and we love Nikita even though he's not here yet.... Shouri, you have to understand; we can't handle it happening again." Gloved fists ground into his eyes, and Viktor fought so hard to keep everything in while he was sitting in front of his son; but it was all for naught, because once the tears began to escape, there was absolutely no holding back. He doubled over, racked with sobs, trying to hide his face while Shouri watched him, wide-eyed, moving in slowly to hug against his father's arm.

Shouri had never seen this before. He was used to seeing Yuri cry, but Viktor had never broken in his son's presence that he could remember. The only time had been far beyond the reaches of memory that Shouri could recall. Viktor had cried on the day Shouri was born, and even that didn't compare to what was happening now. The boy tried to rub his father's back and hair, the same way his mother did for him, the same way he'd seen Viktor do for his mother, but it only seemed to make things worse. He didn't let go, though. He just sat in awkward silence while Viktor cried himself out, until he was sniffling and dabbing his eyes on his jacket sleeve. Then finally, he let his head dip in shame. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't want you to cry, and I don't want Mom or Nikita to die. I didn't mean it."

"I know, _solnyshko_. I know. I'm sorry, but I'm scared." He snuffed back the rest of his tears, pulled a tissue from his pocket to blow his nose. "I know I'm not supposed to be the one who gets scared, but.... In this case.... We've lost Yuzu, we almost lost you.... I'm scared that next will be Nikita or your mom, and if that happens, I...." He didn't want to think about the rest of that sentence. It was one thing for him to share his insecurities and explain to Shouri why what he'd said was wrong, but that statement had been heading somewhere far too dark for his little ray of sunshine to travel.

"Daddy, you know what?" Shouri was smiling when Viktor glanced at him uncertainly. "In the Lion King, Mufasa is scared that Simba could have gotten killed by the hyenas when he didn't listen. So whenever you feel down, just remember that it's okay, and even kings get scared sometimes."

Viktor just stared, his pretty, pale features burning bright red as his mouth worked in confusion, not entirely sure if he wanted to smile or frown. On the one hand, his nine-year-old son shouldn't have been trying to comfort him, telling him it was okay to be scared. No... it should have been the other way around. He was a horrible father for allowing things to transpire this way, and he felt everything inside him sink at the knowledge. So he sighed, forced a reluctant smile, and pulled Shouri into his lap to nuzzle the top of his head while the boy squawked and shrieked something about Viktor getting snot in his hair. He didn't let go though; he held Shouri in a vice grip until he stopped struggling, and let out a long breath, feeling some of the weight lift from his chest. "Shouri, have you taken your inhaler today?"

"Yup. Before breakfast."

"And your exercises?"

"...I will. I've just been busy."

Viktor huffed--sort of a laugh, if he weren't mistaken. "You need to apologize to your mother, and give him a big hug and kiss, because you scared him really badly this morning. We didn't know what to think, Shouri; you could have been anywhere. Your mother thought you'd been kidnapped." Shouri hummed something then in response, and Viktor only held him closer, rocking his thin body back and forth with long, deep breaths. He felt much calmer now, lighter, almost sleepy.

"Dad, just one thing. What happens when you die?" The words were muffled against his jacket, but Viktor heard them loud and clear, like a cannon being set off in front of him. This was something that they'd somehow managed to avoid talking about until now. It wasn't that either Viktor or Yuri had strongly defined ideas about death, but more that they intentionally disregarded the subject and avoided it as much as possible. This time, with Shouri asking a direct question, there was no escape.

He paused to think, held his breath, and raised a hand to rub his index finger over his lips. "No one really knows, Shouri. But... you can think of it like going to sleep forever, never being able to wake up. Once you die, you can never come back."

"Oh." The boy seemed to contemplate this for a moment before unravelling himself from his father's hold and slipping his arms around his neck instead, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry. I don't want anyone to die, and I didn't mean to scare you or Mom, but Mom's snoring was loud and the bed wasn't comfy, so I couldn't sleep." His explanation had Viktor shaking his head, reprimanding him again and reminding him that he couldn't just run off like that, especially in the middle of the night while his parents were asleep. Shouri seemed exasperated with the reiterated lesson to say the least, but he conceded, kissed his father affectionately, and then slid off his lap to go look for his mother.

Viktor was relieved that things had managed to work out this time without getting too out of hand, but he had this awful sinking feeling that he and Yuri had not yet seen the extent of Shouri's ire.


	10. Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened. At some point I forgot what my goal for this chapter was and I went through a period of not wanting to write anything but depressive shit (see my profile for a shitty one-shot, Lifeless; or actually please don't, it's terrible), so this and the other fic that I've been trying to start for months really got put on the back burner. I haven't finished anything but that one 2k word one-shot in over a month. It was in part due to some things that I'm going through with my landlord which may actually turn legal in the coming weeks, meaning that my roommate and I may have to sue over something that happened, which I'm not fully going to get into. Top that off with some IG drama with a bunch of asshole preteens, and you've essentially just got a recipe for me not doing what I'm supposed to.
> 
> It's starting to feel like I make an excuse for every chapter, but like. I dunno. I just. Ugh.
> 
> About the chapter itself. It's wholly uneventful, and thankfully after this we'll be able to move onto some more exciting stuff, like Nikita's birth and some things with Shouri that I want to write (*cough*firstgirlfriend*cough*). I don't think I'm going to bother filling in the time between this chapter and Nikita being born like I originally intended. In true spirit of SMAA, I'm just going to fuck continuity up the ass and jump forward in time again so I can write something that I've been kind of excited about.

As soon as they saw who stepped out of the car, the press went wild. Since mid-October, twenty-six-year-old Yuri Altin had stayed as far away from the spotlight as he possibly could, only having been spotted by cameras when he’d participated in his second Grand Prix event of the season. After that, he’d gone completely off the radar, and everyone was itching to see the new parent out in public with the baby. Yuri was pretty certain that no one was going to get to take pictures of his son to paste all over their magazine at least until he and Otabek put out an official announcement on their son’s adoption, and he was just determined enough to keep that from happening--to the utter chagrin of every photographer sitting outside the Megasport Arena in Moscow. Even as Yuri leaned into the back seat of his and Otabek’s rental to harvest his son’s carrier from where it was locked into the base as a car seat, not one lens managed to steal a peak at the illusive three-week-old, who was covered for his protection. It didn’t stop them from trying though. The press was stubborn. Yuri was even more so. He walked by with his nose in the air, keeping a vaguely irritated expression that kept the crowd at bay as he made his way inside.

He knew the layout of the arena well by now, and knew where his targets would be sitting, watching with other skaters and coaches as the last of the women finished their programs before the men began. He made his way up into the stands, carrier in-hand, and sure enough, there were two dark-haired figures sitting cuddled close together only a few rows away. He stepped down toward them from behind, quietly stalking his prey not unlike a lion, and set his son on the seat next to Shouri who was whining something incoherently to his mother; both practically jumped out of their skin at the blond’s sudden presence. “Hey Katsudon. Shouri.”

The pair stared for a long while, taking in the way the Russian had changed since they’d last seen him in August with matching incredulous expressions. First and foremost, he seemed paler though it could have the lighting or the foundation he was wearing in attempt to cover the unmistakable dark circles under his eyes that the Japanese Yuri knew were from lack of sleep. His hair was pulled over his shoulder in a messy fishtail, and far outside his usual attire, he was wearing a dark grey cardigan with a crème-coloured peasant top underneath and dark red skinnies. He said it before he thought about it, “You look different. Like a mom.”

Yurio immediately snorted, “Stuff it, pork cutlet. I haven’t changed at all.” Clearly, he resented his senior’s statement, and the bitterness in his voice made the Asian male sit back just a little. “I’m just tired is all.”

Not that Yura’s abrasive attitude was going to make him miss an opportunity like this. “What, you mean no one told you babies are nocturnal? Shouri hardly ever slept at night until he was around almost six months old. If I had known, I would have warned you,” he teased lightly, Shouri looking back and forth between the two adults as they bantered back and forth about what he could only guess was mom stuff. The nine-year-old quickly lost interest and began peeling the cover back slowly from the carrier, all the while glancing up at his uncle to make sure he hadn’t noticed yet. Except that at some point their eyes caught, and Shouri froze, halfway into pulling the cover off.

“You wanna see him? He’s not really exciting. Just kind of a fleshy blob right now.” Without waiting, Yurio pulled the cover off to reveal a sleeping baby boy, clad in a dark gold onesie with a matching hat that was lined with dark brown fur. Shouri reached in without waiting for permission so he could play with the little felt claws on the hands of the outfit. Yuri immediately recognized it as one that he and Viktor had sent for the baby shower they weren’t able to attend. It had come in a set of large cat outfits, or as the package had called them, Jungle Cats. Yuri could imagine his junior opening it, seeing the lion piece and remarking that lions lived on the savannah, not in the jungle. Luckily, it had also come with a tiger, leopard, and a jaguar, and those seemed to have kept the blond from complaining as soon as he’d come into contact with his older counterpart.

“He’s dark,” Shouri noted in reference to the baby’s skin colour, eventually losing interest in the claws when he spotted the tail with the tiny brown tuft on the end. He lifted it, tickling the end of the sleeping infant’s tiny button nose until he grimaced, scrunching up his face and lifting his arms to wipe stiffly at his face. Shouri added the growling lion noises that the baby wasn’t able to make at this age, and just continued to tickle his nose.

Yurio noised a soft response. “His birth mother is Spanish, and his birth father is Greek, so he comes by his colour honestly. Can you believe they were only fifteen and sixteen? When I was their age I was beating adults in Grand Prix figure skating events and still trying to get through high school. Kids these days have too much time on their hands.” The blond Russian crossed his arms over his chest, frowning protectively as he watched his adoptive child slowly getting more frustrated until he let out an inhuman shriek, almost too loud for such a tiny pair of lungs. Yura snapped to attention instantly, brushing Shouri back with a wave of his hand to unbuckle his son, scooping him out to place him against his chest. Shouri watched, more than a little put out as his uncle searched for something, slowly rocking the baby back and forth. “Shit, Beka has the diaper bag in the car. He better not forget it.”

“Like you did,” Yuri pointed out, somewhat in Otabek’s defence, but pursed his lips closed when a narrowed green gaze was turned on him. He thought about mentioning how scatterbrained he and Viktor had been as first-time parents with Shouri, how much they’d struggled working another life into their busy schedule. The diaper bag had been forgotten on more than one occasion, and more often than not, Yuri ended up going out to buy products that they desperately needed but had left behind in the rush, late for practice after a long night up with their newborn son. Instead of bringing it up though, he decided it might be best to change the subject. “What did you end up naming him? I know last time we talked you and Otabek were at odds over it.”

“Mm,” the younger affirmed with a slight nod, moving the carrier onto the floor so he could sit, rubbing the baby’s back now that he’d stopped fussing. “Beka wanted him to have a Kazakh name, and everything he suggested was horrible. We decided on Lev Nikolai Altin after I beat him up and made him cry.”

“Lev is nice. But Nikolai for a middle name?” Yuri raised an eyebrow, playfully prodding with a questioning tone. Yurio’s face stayed set in its mildly irritated default. “Not Yurevich? I thought you were dead set on giving him your patronymic.”

And the blond shrugged in response. “Beka and I talked, and we don’t have any plans to leave Canada ever, so there wasn’t any real reason to stick to traditions. Actually, in the middle of all this, my grandfather had a heart attack, so… we thought it would be best to name the baby after his great-grandfather.”

“Oh my God, Yurio….” The Japanese man wished he could backtrack, felt absolutely terrible for poking fun at his junior at all, even in the slightest. His own grandparents had passed away when he was quite young--his parents being quite a bit older when they’d had him--so he didn’t really remember anything about the circumstances. But he knew that the next closest family members he had were his parents, and if anything like that had happened to them, he…. He couldn’t handle it as well as Yurio seemed to be doing just now. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known--”

“He’s alright. He went through some pretty major surgery for his age, though, and it’s just…. It can’t be good for him. Beka and I are talking about moving him to Canada. It might be hard on us for a while, financially, but we both agreed that it’s in his best interest. God knows his daughter isn’t taking care of him like she’s supposed to.” He squeezed his son just a little, bowed his head to nuzzle into the corona of dark brown fuzz on Lev’s hat, inhaling sweet, comforting baby smell deeply until he could relax with a barely audible groan. Yuri didn’t miss the way Yurio had referred to his mother as his grandfather’s daughter, failing to even recognize her role in his life, having brought him into the world. He knew that the younger man’s relationship with her was on unstable ground; he just didn’t realize that it was, and remained, this bad. He opened his mouth to say something, but Yura cut him off. “Lev is the Ukrainian word for lion, in case you were wondering. We thought about going with the Russian _Liev_ , but….. This is going to sound stupid, so don’t you dare laugh.” Yuri was not laughing. The blond sucked in a deep breath and continued. “The extra syllable takes the sharp edge off and makes it sound softer. He’s strong enough to carry a one-syllable name, and I think it flows better with his middle name better overall. Lev Nikolai, _Liev_ Nikolai. See what I mean?”

Effectively, the young blond had dispelled the building tension and offered a soft smile across the empty seat that was now between them. “Oh. You’re one of _those_ moms.” Yurio offered a soft grunt, and the two fell into silence; the dark-haired man’s eyes scanned the crowd for a moment while he picked up his phone to text his husband quickly before turning his attention back on the blond at his side. “Did you actually make Beka cry?”

“I tried. He’s like a fucking robot though; it’s impossible to get under his skin, I swear.” Despite everything, the two shared a short laugh. Yurio could have told his senior stories about domestic life with a stay-at-home husband like Otabek that would have had him in stitches, but he held back, mostly because he wanted to keep his personal life quiet while in public, especially with the baby. The Japanese male didn’t have to be told--he could see the way Yurio held his son, glancing around to make sure no one was around to steal candid photos of them--and he understood better than anyone what Yurio was feeling.

Yuri remembered vividly how protective he had been over Shouri, from the moment he’d reached down to take his son as he entered the world, passed between his thighs by the doula and into his and Viktor’s waiting arms. He couldn’t remember whether he’d been laughing or crying--maybe a mix of the two--but he felt himself swell with so many unnameable emotions seeing his son and holding him against his body, despite all the unmentionable fluids that covered him. _“He’s slimy!”_ he’d proclaimed through the tears, taking the towel from the doula as he offered to clean the baby for him. Yuri was addicted from that first moment; the last thing he wanted was another person touching his child, and if it weren’t for complete and utter exhaustion, he probably wouldn’t have relinquished his hold at all. He had most of the important firsts--Viktor got to bathe and clothe him first, but Yuri let that go--and he felt satisfied enough by the end of the day to let Viktor take care of their son while he got some much needed rest.

That was alright with him. With just himself, Viktor, and the doula, Yuri felt no pressure at all, no reason to be obsessively protective over his son.

It was when his family came over, bringing Minako and the Nishigori family along to celebrate exactly a week after Shouri’s birth, that he really started to get upset. Yuri had enough trouble with his anxiety as it was, but watching helplessly as his son was passed around the room, fussing more and more as he went, agitated him greatly. On the one hand, he knew he needed to be polite, let everyone have their turn, because they _were not_ going to hurt the baby. And on the other hand… it was _his_ baby, and _his_ baby needed _him_ ; no one else needed to touch him or hold him or breathe in his sweet baby scent and-- Before long, Yuri had snapped, practically begging for his child back as the anxiety welled and overtook him, and Viktor had to take Shouri from Takeshi with the excuse that Yuri could comfort him so he would stop fussing and make perfectly certain he was alright. In reality, it was simply for Yuri’s peace of mind--everyone could see that, and though Minako frowned and called him a baby hoarder, no one else really said much. It was too much, too soon for Yuri and anyone who had ever had a child or aided in raising one understood what he felt.

Thinking back on this and seeing the similarities between them, Yuri found his younger counterpart’s actions to be quite sweet. He’d figured that Yurio would be a less hands-on parent, so seeing the blond Russian like this was an extremely welcome and pleasant surprise. The only thing that disappointed him was knowing how hard it would be to pry the baby off the Ice Tiger’s shoulder so he could get himself a lungful of that addictive baby smell.

When Yurio looked up, he saw that longing look in his senior’s eyes and immediately frowned. “No chance, Katsudon. You’ll have your own soon enough.” The younger male went back to nuzzling against his infant son, breathing in deeply and audibly just to spite his senior. Before long, jade-coloured eyes strayed back to the Japanese man, looking over him before more or less settling on his stomach, the bulk of which was hardly visible under one of Viktor’s sweaters. “You look like you got fat again,” Yurio pointed out so very eloquently, and Yuri sat back, eyebrows raising just a little.

“Is it that obvious? I’m trying to be careful; I’ve been scolded over my weight gain already, but it’s really hard for me to keep it off when I’m not exercising on a regular basis, and I can’t diet because that could end up causing a lot of health problems for the baby,” the older explained with a marked frown, his hand coming to cradle the underside of his belly subconsciously. There was a small flutter of life under his fingertips, he was sure, and it gave him a sense of relief even while talking about the things that terrified him the most. “The obstetrician is already worried about my possibility of developing gestational diabetes, or ending up with preeclampsia, and because I’ve already had one miscarriage… my age on top of that…. We just have to be really careful. He was even hesitant about letting me get on a plane, but the baby seems to be doing really well, so….” Yuri breathed out, a long exhale through pursed lips, and he finally looked away from the baby on Yurio’s shoulder to wave at the willowy figure of his husband coming toward them. “We’re doing everything we can, anyway.”

“How much longer?” Yurio asked, catching Viktor’s eyes and scowling at him as he squeezed by to take the seat beside his husband, wrapping his arms quite protectively around him.

The Asian had to think about the question for a moment, humming uncertainly. “I’m seventeen weeks now…. So…. From forty as an estimate, that’s twenty-three weeks, or just under six months.” He looked up as he did the calculations, nodding when he was sure he had the right answer. “Six months at the most, five and a half at the least. The guess date is April 15th, but up to two weeks in either direction is considered safe.”

Yurio narrowed his eyes a little. “Fascinating.” He took a deep breath, pale cheeks slowly inflaming, and fixed his gaze down on the ice where one of the female skaters was in the middle of her program. “I could try to be free by then. To come look after Shouri, I mean.”

“It’s fine; we’ve already asked my parents to look after him. If you wanted to come and stay at the onsen, that’d be okay, though. You could bring Shouri back to the house after and see the baby.”

The blond huffed, raised an eyebrow, glancing at the pair out of the corner of his eye. Mostly, he was curious as to what Viktor was doing with his hands sneaking under Yuri’s sweater--it looked like he was kneading into his husband’s back and hips, but Yurio couldn’t really be sure, especially with the way his Japanese senior let out a soft sound and pressed back into Viktor’s hands. “Why don’t I just sit with him in the waiting room? Do families not do that in Japan or something?”

Yuri laughed, but it was breathy and followed by a soft moan. “We’re having a homebirth, and I’m just not comfortable having Shouri waiting around. I don’t want to scare him; if he thinks I’m in a lot of pain, he might get worried, and that’s just not something I-- _Oh_ ….”

“It hurts here, _lyubov moya_?” Viktor’s hands paused on his husband’s hips, and he glanced over Yuri’s shoulder, clearly concerned.

Yuri just brushed it off. “Mm…. Feels good. Keep going.”

“You two make me sick, doing that in public.” Yurio frowned heavily, shifting again to scan the area for threats, and finally replaced Lev in his carrier so he could sleep peacefully without his mother’s voice in his ear. His discomfort must have reached Yuri on an emotional level because he suddenly seemed quite ashamed of himself and quietly asked Viktor if they could continue later instead, as much as his hips and lower back were straining him. This seemed to please the blond who sat back in his seat, putting a foot up on the back of the seat ahead of him. “So you know what you’re having yet?”

This time, it was Viktor who piped up excitedly, before Yuri even had a chance to spill the beans. “It’s a girl, and we’re naming her Vik--”

“ _Viktor_.” Clearly, this was not the first time the silver-haired man had tried this, and Yurio was left cackling quietly to himself at the clearly outlined irritation on his senior’s face and voice. Yuri promptly turned to press his back against his own seat, crossing his arms over his chest while Viktor whimpered pathetically. The stern look he was getting seemed to sway him, and eventually he let out a small, defeated sound.

“Always so demanding, Yuri.” Put in his place, Viktor turned his attention back to the youngest, and despite the scolding, he smiled, soft and warm. “We’re having another boy.” Viktor leaned against his mate, snuggling happily as Yuri took his hand to lace their fingers, bringing them up to kiss his knuckles affectionately. It was short lived though, because when Viktor looked down, he realized that the last of the ladies division was finishing her program, and he reluctantly pulled his hand away. “I better get back down there before Shouri takes over my job. Jonathan wasn’t happy to be babysitting before a competition and I’m afraid he might fire us after this.” There was an unspoken laugh on the Russian’s voice as he stood to sneak away.

Yuri nodded quietly, waited for Viktor to disappear from sight before heaving a deep sigh and slumping back into his seat as much as his sore back would allow. The blond Russian to his left raised an eyebrow, questioning, and though Yuri didn’t see it he still felt the need to explain. “I feel like I’m failing at being a parent. Shouri’s been rebellious lately, and I don’t know how to handle it. He’s always been so sweet and affectionate, and now…. I mean, he still is, but…. I guess he’s just being resistant; he might just be jealous of the baby, or maybe it has something to do with his medication. I don’t know. And I’m scared to ask in case it makes everything worse.”

“Wow,” was the snorted out reply, and Yuri glanced at Yurio out of the corner of his eyes without turning his head at all. “He’s what? Nine? Don’t worry about it. I mean, you dealt with me when I was like that, right?”

This made something swell in the dark-haired man’s chest, and he failed at fighting off a small smile. “You’re _still_ like that.”

“Exactly.” There was a collective silence, even despite the roaring of the crowd around them as the woman on the ice waved to her fans, and made her way off the ice to wait for her score. They both watched the sweepers clean the ice off, sat through the deafening screeches as the scores were read and the skater received a personal best, and when people began to leave Yurio finally heaved out an audible sigh. “Look. Just treat him the same way you always have and eventually he’ll have to realize he’s being stupid. He probably feels like you’re trying to replace him or something, and it’s only going to get worse after you pop that thing out, especially if you act like you’re afraid to talk to him. It probably makes him feel like you’re trying to alienate him, or like you don’t love him as much anymore.”

“Oh…. I don’t know why I didn’t think about that…. Come to think of it, Yurio, you seem pretty knowledgeable for a first-time mom. You’re not maybe speaking from experience are you?” Yuri grinned slyly and Yurio looked away, face flushing beet red as he growled out some Russian expletive, which left the pregnant male in stitches. Actually, the idea that the blond Yuri was giving advice based on how he’d felt when Shouri was born was extremely endearing, and that swelling feeling returned tenfold. It was honestly difficult not to think of Yurio like his and Viktor’s son sometimes, and moments like this were a testament to the fact that he at least felt similarly.

But it made Yuri think. He hadn’t meant to make Shouri feel alienated. He seemed to be going through cycles of rebellion and over-protectiveness that sometimes even rivalled Viktor’s level of care. In the past few days since his latest blow up, he’d been extra attentive, offering to rub his mother’s feet and running back and forth to get him drinks and snacks that he hadn’t asked for but was extremely grateful for. And despite all the cuddling they’d been doing, they hadn’t had a proper conversation in over a week, really. They’d talked about his homework briefly, and for a little longer they talked about how Nikita was growing and how soon Shouri would be a big brother and he’d have a lot more responsibilities… which had pretty much shut that conversation down before it had even really begun, and Yuri hadn’t really tried again after that. He felt terrible. Something had to change, and quickly. He wanted to make this time count while he had it, before Nikita came and he’d have to really focus on splitting his attention between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on IG because sometimes I post picture of my cats. My user is literally the same as my AO3 penname.
> 
> Also. [Lev](http://pre06.deviantart.net/ba76/th/pre/i/2017/070/1/9/lev_by_kveria-db1zq7g.jpg).


	11. Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, warnings for this chapter, because I feel like it's a SUPER sensitive chapter and just...
> 
> There is excessive foul language. I don't feel like it's misplaced, so I'm sorry if that's upsetting for some people. There's also a scene describing Lev's birth with some less than pleasant details, nothing too graphic, but there's mention of an episiotomy and some rough treatment of the ladybits that often occurs with hospital births. Nikita is finally here in this chapter, and I wrote the labour as realistically as I could while glossing over most of the actual delivery, but I've tagged this with semi-graphic birth for a reason. And yeah, I did a lot of research, including the watching of many hours of video footage, so I know this is pretty accurate on all accounts.
> 
> Warning for Shouri being himself. He's the purest. Let's all just appreciate him.
> 
> Warning for me getting a Tumblr that has some NSFW art on it. And by that I mean, there's art of Yuri licking a literally massive dildo, so. You've been warned. It's at the bottom, though, and the stuff above it is pretty tame. neoniichan.tumblr.com, if you're interested. I want to encourage people to follow me there for fic updates and drabbles on demand. Meaning if you send me an ask for a drabble on any Vikturi related topic, whether it's part of the SMAA universe or not, I will write it. I'm not squeamish about anything, either, so please go nuts. I would really appreciate the support, and I really want to connect with my readers more.
> 
> Next on the gay agenda, I'm wondering if there are any specific scenes WITHIN the SMAA universe that anyone would like a more in-depth explanation of. Like, if there's something I didn't write about much, or at all, or you feel was glossed over and you'd like more of it, I'm taking requests, either here or on my Tumblr for a collection of SMAA themed one-shots. Ask away, and I'm going to do my best to write every single one of them. The first one was requested by yuki-chicken, who is one of my main drives to continue this fic; they'll be getting the gift of a more in-depth look at Yurio meeting Shouri for the first time, probably before I start on the next chapter. These will be posted only on AO3, as opposed to the drabbles, which I'll leave on Tumblr.
> 
> And lastly, I'm sorry for the length and the time it took to write this. I'm not exaggerating when I say it's actually 12412 words and 17 pages long.
> 
> Hopefully despite everything, everyone can enjoy it. I really like this chapter, I'm really proud of it, so please tell me what you think.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Viktor?”

The whisper of his name in the dark had the silver-haired Russian stirring just slightly, acknowledging his husband with a soft grunt and a press of his cold nose against the back of Yuri’s neck. They lay against each other--Viktor’s chest to Yuri’s back--with Viktor’s arm wrapped around his mate just above his heavily pregnant middle. He sighed, not pulled completely out of sleep quite yet, and was happily sinking back into the warmth of a fantastical dreamland when Yuri shifted over onto his back, reaching over to touch his fingers to Viktor’s bare torso. His fingertips were like icicles in comparison to the Russian’s sleep-heated body and it had him stunned awake almost instantly. He groaned loudly, petulantly, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “What is it, _lyubovnik_? Another cheeseburger?” Apparently still trapped in some sort of dreamlike state, Viktor began to roll himself out of bed when Yuri grabbed his forearm.

“No. A contraction.” Viktor couldn’t see through the dark to make out Yuri’s expression, but he could hear the grave tone to his husband’s voice, and something in him went cold. His eyebrows shot up and he went rigid in Yuri’s grip, held his breath. The feeling of Yuri’s fingers tight around his arm told him that they likely shared the same feeling in that moment: pure petrification.

It had been like this the first time, too; except then Yuri had been complaining of a sore, tight feeling in his pelvis and lower back, which came and went and felt much more comfortable when Viktor rubbed his back for him. He hadn’t even realized what was happening until the tightness became altogether more painful and more regular and he called the doula around midnight because he wasn’t entirely sure if he was in labour or not. Their doula was understanding, and came right over to do an examination, confirming that their first child was on his way. Within hours, Shouri was born, and the doula remarked that he’d come quite quick for a first baby, though he was rather on the small side. He was a little early. Healthy, just thin and wiry.

Back then, Viktor remembered it feeling like they’d barely had enough time to prepare. Yuri had already been seventeen weeks along when they found out, and Shouri was born early at thirty-seven weeks. Twenty weeks really wasn’t all that much time, and it felt like it went by much more quickly than it actually had. Viktor also remembered thinking, _Next time we’ll be more prepared and we won’t panic_. Clearly, that wasn’t the case at all. Viktor still felt his heart start to pound until the sound filled his ears and he wasn’t sure if he was breathing properly or not. He felt light-headed and dizzy, like he might just lose himself at any moment and pass out. It was Yuri’s hands on the sides of his face that were bringing him back, his husband quietly murmuring to him, pulling him in to kiss his lips. “Viktor, it’s okay. Try to stay calm. Get Shouri up out of bed and get his bag ready. I’m going to call Mom and Dad.”

“Better call Yurio, too. He’ll be furious if you leave him out,” Viktor replied with a heavy sigh as he forced himself to take deep breaths. This was it. After this, there would be a new addition to their family as long as everything went smoothly. Toward the end the first time, the obstetrician had been much more optimistic about a homebirth than he had been with Nikita. He’d offered to Yuri the option of coming to the hospital, or even scheduling an elective caesarean up until the last check-up with Shouri. This time, rather than offering, he had almost insisted when Yuri had gone in to see him at the thirty-eight week mark. _“You’re taking an immense, unnecessary risk, Mr. Katsuki, and at this point I do recommend that you reconsider the option of a c-section. Your baby is healthy and well developed, but in comparison to the size of your pelvis…. He’s just a little too big, and I know the last thing you want to do is hurt your baby because of your poor decision.”_

Yuri had stayed strong and amicable, smiling softly with all the radiant glow of pregnancy as well as an almost distant, tired quality. _“Thank you for your concern, Sensei. I’ll consider it a little more and let you know.”_ He had no intention of taking the offer, Viktor knew. Yuri was stubborn and did whatever he set his mind to, no matter who it was telling him he couldn’t do something, and Viktor admired that. Unless the baby was in distress, nothing was going to stop him from having the comfortable homebirth he wanted in the safety of his husband’s arms, expanding their family together.

Viktor admittedly had been terrified of the prospect with Shouri. Why would anyone actually want to do something so dangerous at home when they could be in the hospital where medical intervention was possible? Why wouldn’t someone want the drugs that kept the pain away, or the doctor and nurses that had seen this tons of times and knew what was normal and what wasn’t? Why would anyone actually choose to give birth at home with only a doula--who was an aid for emotional support with very little if any actual medical training and nothing else--which seemed so backwards and antiquated when they could have the modern convenience of a hospital? The whole thing made no sense to Viktor, and even up until the end, it had been difficult to accept that this was Yuri’s choice, even if he had agreed to it.

 _“Does it hurt?”_ Viktor had asked more than once, and Yuri always answered the same.

_“A little. But it’s worth it.”_

It remained his answer right up until the end, and after Shouri was in their arms, Viktor watched Yuri slowly and affectionately towelling off their son as he screamed himself red. There was a silent question on his lips watching fat tears roll down his fiancé’s cheeks even though he was smiling and laughing, clearly high on endorphins. He called his mate’s name, and Yuri didn’t even look up into the slight worry in Viktor’s eyes. He didn’t have to. He simply responded, _“I’m fine, Viktor. It doesn’t hurt at all.”_ Because in that moment, the past few hours had simply melted away into the pure bliss that was holding their son in their arms for the first time, looking down on him and seeing him real and alive. The whole experience had opened Viktor to what Yuri suggested later after waking from his hours-long nap, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. _“We should do it again, Vitya. At least six more times.”_ Viktor remembered laughing, nuzzling against Yuri’s neck and pulling him close to his side, asking him why six more exactly. Yuri had just shrugged. “Seven is a lucky number,” he’d responded, and Viktor remembered finding this so ridiculous that he just laughed; but it wasn’t an entirely unwelcome thought, having a big family like that with Yuri, and after the initial shock had worn off, he was most certainly ready to think about the future.

Yuri laughed softly. “Are you okay, Vityenka? You look a little pale.” His warm hand on Viktor’s cool cheek had the Russian tensing, practically shocked back into the moment as he realized that his husband was slowly making his way out of bed to wrap Viktor’s robe around his otherwise naked body. “Why don’t you lie down a little longer? I’ll get Shouri up and you can drive him over when he’s ready to go.” Viktor would have protested, but Yuri already had his phone up to his ear and was leaving the room. “Mari! Hi, sorry to bother you this late. Is it okay for Viktor to bring Shouri over right now? ….Yes. Well, probably not for a few more hours, but Shouri came really quick, so I just want to be sure.” The silverette heard his husband’s end of the conversation as he made his way down the hall, getting up to dress himself and listen to Yuri’s voice just a little longer, so calm in the midst of all this. “Thank you so much, Mari. You’re a lifesaver.” And then he was out of proper hearing range, though Viktor heard what he could have sworn were the words, “Love you too.” before the house went eerily silent again.

There were hushed voices down the hall--Yuri waking their son and telling him it was time to go, and Shouri whining something incoherent--and before Viktor had finished pulling his sweater on, Yuri had returned, shutting the door behind him. The smaller male’s arms wrapped around his neck in the dark and Viktor felt him lean in against his chest, burying his face in his sweater with a long groan. Viktor’s hands found his husband’s lower back, and he instinctively began to rub deep, slow circles with the heels of his hands. “You’re sure this is it? It could just be bad false contractions, right?” he asked dumbly, wetting his lips while a part of him remained in denial. He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, because Yuri’s voice disappeared into his sweater and was replaced by a low hiss.

“I’m sure, Viktor. Trust me, I know the difference.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and it startled the taller man who began to knead just a little harder at his mate’s back as if it would make up for his indiscretion. Yuri seemed to calm a little, swaying back and forth slowly. He breathed in deeply, bowed his head so only his forehead was against Viktor’s body, and breathed out again, “ _Fuck._ Go tell Shouri to hurry up, and get back here as fast as you can.”

Yuri released him, and Viktor took a moment to make sure his husband made it back to the bed alright before springing into action. “Shouri, let’s go! _Now_!” When he made it to his son’s room, it was only to find that the black-haired boy with his hair left down and tangled where it fell just above his waist, still stuffing clothes into a bag, stopping at that moment to rub his eyes and yawn.

“Can’t I just stay? I want to be here when Nikita gets here,” he protested weakly, a whine heavy in his voice as Viktor took his son’s bag with a huff.

“No. Mama wants you to wait with your grandparents and Aunt Mari.” He didn’t offer much of an explanation--neither of them really had when they had informed Shouri of the plan--and Viktor could see his son’s irritation beginning to build in the lowlight of his bedside lamp through the set of his mouth. He let an exasperated sigh out through his nose, wetting each of his lips slowly, thoughtfully. “Listen. We’re doing this for Mama’s comfort, right? He needs to be relaxed for Nika to come, and he might have a hard time relaxing if he’s worried about scaring you, _solnyshko._ Remember how I told you that it’s dangerous for a baby to come out too early?” Shouri nodded his response, watching as Viktor began to shove more things into the bag, more out of anxiety than necessity. “Well, it’s dangerous if they stay in too long, too. When they’re inside, they’re surrounded in fluid that helps protect them and they have a cord on their belly button that helps them get oxygen and nutrients; but when they’re ready to come out, the fluid all comes out and the cord stops sending the things that keep the baby alive, so he can get ready to live outside.”

Shouri nodded again, this time in understanding, and took his bag to zip it up before his father could shove anything else in. “I know how it works,” he responded flatly, and Viktor straightened with eyebrows shooting straight up. “Mom told me what happens when babies are born, and he said it’s a lot of hard work. That’s why I should be here to help. I can get towels or water, or I could hold Mom’s hand-- I can do _something. Anything_. Dad, please let me stay.” Clearly, Shouri was still more than half-asleep and was whining for the sake of whining at this point. He knew very well what the answer was going to be.

Viktor shook his head, shouldered the overnight bag, and scooped up the lithe ten-year-old with a little difficulty. “Time to go, Shouri. You can go back to sleep when you get to the onsen.”

“I don’t want to go! I want to help,” the boy insisted, squirming as Viktor carried him out into the hall; the struggle intensified as they passed the master bedroom, and Viktor just couldn’t hold on anymore. He did his best to let go of his son in a way that he’d hit the floor feet-first, and tried to stop him as he grabbed for the door. The sound of pained moaning was muffled but loud, and Viktor knew exactly why as the door flung open. “Mom, _please_ let me--” Yuri didn’t even move from where he was positioned, standing at the side of the bed, leaned over with his face against one of their pillows, rocking his hips and his robe was pooled on the floor at his feet; without the door to further mute it, the sound of Yuri’s moaning was primal, long and low exhales of deep breaths as he rode out what seemed like a pretty intense contraction. Shouri paled, eyes blown wide as he slowly turned away and Viktor closed the door. There was silence between them as they left the house and the black-haired brother-to-be climbed into the car without a fight. The digital clock on the car’s radio read 11:23PM, and the streets were clear, so Viktor made quick work of getting to the onsen and escorting Shouri up to the door, hassle-free.

“I’m really sorry about this, Shouri. We do love you, and we’re not trying to get rid of you. We just think this is for the best,” Viktor tried again before reaching for the door handle to let them in. He could hear the vacuum running on the other side of the door, and knew Mari wouldn’t hear them knocking. Before he left, he knelt to take Shouri in his arms, kissed his cheek and his forehead, and nuzzled against his shoulder. “When you come home next, you’ll be a big brother, _solnyshko_. Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” Shouri finally said after such a long silence during the ride over. He hugged his father in return, kissed his cheek, and then went quiet again, a sheepish blush creeping across his face. “Uhm…. Don’t tell Mom, please?”

Viktor pulled away smiling apologetically, ran a hand over his son’s tangled hair. “About what, _solnyshko_?”

Shouri fidgeted, eyes darting away from his father as the blush darkened, creeping down the sides of his neck. He lowered his voice, leaning in to whisper with shame laced in his words. “…I saw his butt.”

There was this moment of stunned silence between them where Viktor pulled back, holding Shouri at arms’ length to gauge the level of embarrassment that his son was exuding, and his mouth tightened into a firm line. He tried biting the inside of his cheek, but really nothing was going to stop the torrent of laughter that bubbled up inside him. Viktor hadn’t laughed so hard in a long time. The admission was just so offhanded and it seemed so silly to Viktor that that was what his son was sorry about that he couldn’t help himself. He laughed until his stomach hurt and there were tears in his eyes as he held onto his son’s shoulders for support. And Shouri? He wasn’t impressed at all. The blush increased tenfold until it looked like every fluid ounce of blood in his body had gathered in his face, neck, and chest and he scowled darkly. Clearly, Shouri didn’t find it that funny.

It took Viktor altogether too long to gather himself, and by the time he’d dragged Shouri in for another hug, Mari had taken notice and was standing on the tatamis with her hand on her hip, unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. “Hey kiddo. How’s my little brother doing?” she inquired of Viktor, patting Shouri on the head as he tried to pick up his bag to drag it past her.

“He seemed fine when I left. He’s strong and stubborn, so…” The Russian inhaled deeply, his grin falling into something a little more reserved. Uncertain. “I’m sure everything will go just fine. The obstetrician said that this was a big baby, though, and… it’s hard to stay as optimistic as Yuri is.”

Mari scoffed, but the sound was fond and she shook her head. “Why don’t you just say it? You’re scared shitless. I can practically smell it on you, Nikiforov. You’re not fooling me.”

“Yeah. Well….” He couldn’t deny it. He was scared shitless. They’d made it this far, and Yuri was already well overdue--almost two whole weeks. Of course he’d refused to go in for an induction, because he knew it would likely end in the c-section he was so afraid of being forced into. He’d told Viktor why he was so against it once, explained what often happened when an expectant mother went into the hospital, and Viktor had honestly thought it was an exaggeration until they’d visited Yurio and Otabek over the Christmas holiday in Canada, and the blond had explained what happened at Lev’s birth.

 _“Camila wanted to do it naturally too,”_ Yurio had opened after Yuri gave an elaboration on his decision to have a natural homebirth with only a doula and his husband present. _“But she was only fifteen, so there was not even a question about whether or not she’d be in the hospital. Well, we were called in around eight, and she’d only been in labour for what? Three hours? If that.”_ He’d looked to Otabek, the Kazakh nodding his affirmation at the blond, who was curled on the couch beside him. Lev lay across their laps with Beka’s big hand supporting his head and neck while Yurio held his body to keep him from slipping out of place. The picture was oddly relaxed in contrast to the horror story they were about to tell. _“Well, in the middle of a contraction, she was screaming bloody murder and the nurse comes in--keeping in mind, by this point, Beka and I had been there over an hour and hadn’t seen a nurse even once come to check on her--and she said to her, ‘Are you sure you don’t want the epidural, dear?’ All nice-like, right? Of course if you offer a fifteen-year-old girl pain meds in the middle of the worst bullshit she’s ever gone through, she’s going to take it, and her mother kept trying to remind her about what she wanted originally…. I don’t really have a problem with that; if she changed her mind, then whatever. It just seemed fishy to me that the nurse would ask at that exact moment. Anyway, whatever drug they injected into her spine ended up slowing the labour, and she wasn’t dilating, so the nurse gave her this shit to speed it up, which just caused more pain, which meant more drugs, and by the time she was supposed to push, she was completely lit--she kept bawling and telling Beka about her hallucinations, and they were scary as fuck from what I could make out. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the nurses were screaming at her to stop crying and push, and when she couldn’t, the doctor ended up cutting her lady parts and using a pair of spoons to pull Lev out--”_

 _“Wait, Yurio. Spoons?”_ Yuri looked mildly sickened and unimpressed; Viktor had covered his mouth, feeling faint as his stomach turned and the blood drained from his face.

Otabek had to correct him. _“Forceps, Yura. The doctor was so careless pulling Lev’s head out that it caused Camila third degree tearing and her uterus ruptured because of the rough treatment. It was the first time I’d ever seen a birth like that. There was a lot of blood. It looked like a murder scene.”_

Yurio physically shuddered. _“Ugh, don’t remind me.”_

_“And Lev’s already showing signs of visual impair in his left eye, which the paediatrician says could have been caused by the use of the forceps.”_

_“Oh, and when we were signing the birth certificate? We had the adoption papers, Lev was ready to go home, and the one nurse wouldn’t let us leave with him. We had to go to hospital administration to get her head out of her ass.”_

_“She refused to bring Lev from the nursery so we could take him home, and Yura threw a fit in the middle of the maternity ward.”_

_“I did.”_ And clearly, he was proud.

Viktor had apologized to Yuri after that. The whole story had his husband frustrated to tears, wiping them with his sleeve angrily, and Viktor didn’t question Yuri’s choice after that. He did voice his fears, however, and talked his mate into the presence of both a doula and a midwife, just in case. Yuri had been in opposition, but they still had enough time to hire someone and make it perfectly clear what Yuri’s wishes were; they’d already wrote out the birth plan with the doula and had no plans on changing any of it except in the event of an emergency. The thought that there would be no intervention unless absolutely necessary soothed Yuri’s anxiety--the last thing he wanted was someone hanging around, making him feel like he couldn’t trust his own body, stressing him out, and impeding his ability to bring their son into the world naturally and unassisted.

“Viktor, it’s gonna be alright, okay?” Mari gave his shoulder a good squeeze, patted his back, and pushed him toward the front door. “Just go and support him like you have for the past twelve years, and you won’t have a problem.”

Viktor thanked Mari quietly and made his way home, calling Yuri on the way back just to make sure he was alright. The labouring male informed his husband that he’d called the doula, and that the doula said he’d call the midwife so that Yuri could relax, which he intended to take full advantage of. He could hear water running in the background, so when he arrived home and hung up, Viktor knew to go straight to the downstairs bathroom where the tub was located. The door was left slightly ajar, and Viktor could hear soft music coming from inside; he slipped in silently, finding the room darkened all except for some lavender and vanilla scented candles and the dimly glowing screen of Yuri’s phone where it sat up on a shelf. The expressive trills of _Yuri On Ice_ were nostalgic and comforting, and Viktor slowly stripped his jacket and shoes off, coming to the side of the tub to kneel by his husband’s side. Yuri was situated on his knees in the warm water, gripping the edge of the claw-foot bathtub and leaning forward just enough that most of his belly and hips were submerged. Viktor kissed the top of Yuri’s head, nuzzled into damp charcoal-coloured hair, rubbed his back slowly. He wanted to ask how his husband was feeling, but he knew better.

“It doesn’t hurt,” the younger man finally told him rigidly, though it was obvious that he was already struggling. He breathed through the pain as best he could and stayed remarkably calm somehow, turning just enough that he could meet his husband’s lips in a soft kiss. “I heard somewhere that the second baby usually comes quicker than the first, and the contractions are getting closer together. If the doula doesn’t get here with the midwife soon, we could be doing this all on our own.”

Viktor’s hand stilled, and he sat back enough to gauge the emotion in his husband’s eyes. Yuri must have seen the panic there, because he laughed in attempt to dispel the tension and rested himself back down in the tub. “Can you just… keep him in until they get here? If something happens, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Yuri laughed again with genuine amusement this time, then sighed as Viktor’s hand found his lower back and started to rub firm circles. He arched into the ministrations gratefully. “I’m just kidding. They’ll be here in plenty of time. I don’t think Nikita is quite keen on the idea of leaving just yet. He’s been throwing a tantrum for the last fifteen minutes.”

“I wouldn’t want to be forcibly evicted from my waterbed either.” Viktor’s hand slid around his mate’s waist, over his swollen middle to feel where their son’s feet were kicking against Yuri’s side, and he couldn’t help but smile. “That’s not very nice Nika, treating Mama like that after he’s taken such good care of you all this time. Settle down and show some respect.” He kept his voice low and soft, whispering in hopes that it would soothe their unborn son. Instead, it just seemed to entice the infant to press his feet out as hard as he could, and Yuri couldn’t help laughing, his smaller hand joining Viktor’s on his stomach.

There was silence between them, feeling their son inside his mother for one of the last times as he finally began to calm down. Yuri was the first to move so he could turn over onto his back and took Viktor’s hand, placing a kiss on each of his knuckles gently, lovingly. “You’ve been so good to me. I love you so much, Vityenka.”

The silverette moved in to kiss his dark-haired lover’s mouth, intense with the need to reciprocate the sentiment in the most instinctive, sincere, and raw method possible. He didn’t pull away until they were both panting and red-faced, and then he bowed his head to rest their foreheads together with his eyes closed. Comfortable. “Don’t say it like that. You know how scared I am, _lyubovnik_.” He tilted his head again, captured Yuri’s lips, laced their right hands. He didn’t pull back this time until he felt his husband’s nails biting into his skin and felt rather than heard Yuri inhale sharply. He didn’t have to ask this time. He knew, and he held on tightly, kissing his mate’s temple as he breathed through it.

For several long minutes, Yuri panted until the contraction reached its peak, and then he clung to his husband, whimpering into his sweater and waiting for it to begin to ebb off. What had begun as a simple tightness across his lower abdomen and back had progressively become more intense and painful, tearing from his hips all the way up to his mid-back. “Help me up,” he breathed out as the pain left him, leaving behind vague discomfort. The water was getting cold and his body felt stiff. “I want to walk.”

This was how the support found Viktor and Yuri, gripping onto each other’s arms with Yuri leaned over on Viktor’s chest and sobbing, insisting that he couldn’t do it while Viktor--in some strange turn of events--reassured him that he was strong, that he could do this, that he’d done it once before, and that he just had to think past the pain. “You’re already doing _amazing_. I’m so proud of you, _miliy_. You’ll be just fine.”

In the midst of what seemed to be a rather bad contraction, Yuri lifted his head, and there was ire in his eyes that stunned the doula and chilled Viktor to his core. He shoved Viktor away, practically growling at him as the silverette stared, eyes wide and expression hurt. “Don’t fucking touch me, Viktor. You don’t know anything. Leave me the fuck alone.”

* * *

It was morning. Shouri was just on the edge of wakefulness, coming out of a dream where he went home instead of going to school that day, and instead of having a new baby brother, there was a puppy in the bassinet. He had to admit that it was likely due to his aunt’s shiba inu curling up to sleep with him, and the fact that he’d been begging as long as he could remember for a puppy despite the fact that his parents had explained why they were hesitant to get another dog. There were pictures everywhere of his parents’ poodle, Makkachin, framed and held to the same regard as they held the pictures of their son. It had been hard on both of them when he passed away, the same as it was difficult for his parents to lose Yuzu. But… if they felt alright now, enough that they could have another baby, then he felt like there was some hope in asking again for a dog.

That was his biggest concern as he reached up to rub at his eyes, whimpering out at the loss of the bliss of dreaming and blinking against the sunlight that peeked between the curtains of his mother’s childhood bedroom. He just wanted a dog. He didn’t care about his brother.

“Morning, buddy. You sleep alright?” his aunt asked, pushing the door open so she could step inside. Immediately her dog jumped up out of the bed to dance around her feet, curled tail wagging with vehement excitement. Shouri groaned his response and nodded slowly. “Your dad called. He said the baby still hasn’t come, and to let you stay home if you want to.” Again, Shouri let out a noncommittal sound, turning over to bury his face in his pillow. He inhaled deeply; it smelled like his mother, and Shouri wanted nothing more than to sink into that comfort. Mari smiled, soft and maternal despite her decision not to have kids even after she’d married and taken over the hot spring with her husband. “Do you want to?”

“Yeah.”

Mari’s grin widened, and she crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned in the doorway. “You know, you don’t get to hang around for free, though. Come on downstairs; I’ll get you some breakfast and then you can give me a hand with the laundry.” Shouri groaned again, and Mari could only laugh. “After that, you can take Kuma for a walk, and then Touma and I have a surprise for you.”

Reluctantly, Shouri dragged himself out of bed and down to the bathroom for a shower, brushed out his incredibly long hair, brushed his teeth, and then stared in the mirror at himself. When he looked at himself, he could see features of both his parents quite clearly. He had his mother’s dark hair and eyes, plush lips and full cheeks; but his nose was thinner, eyes wide and expressive, and the tone of his skin was just a little milkier like his father’s. With his hair long like this, he almost looked like a young Viktor Nikiforov, figure skating prodigy. Almost. Shouri honestly thought he looked more like a girl than a boy, and he wasn’t upset by that at all. That just meant he could play all the fun roles in plays as long as he stayed small and lithe. For a moment, he imagined himself getting up in the morning and putting on a skirt to go to school instead of the pants and the jacket of the boy’s uniform, tying his hair back with ribbons and elastics that had flowers on them like the girl who sat in front of him in class. He loved Akari Sato’s hair. It helped that she was pretty and smart, and that she called him cute nicknames when he talked to her. She liked that he was sweet and sensitive, not like the rest of the boys in their class who pulled her pigtails and stole her drawings and blew raspberries at her.

Idly, Shouri wondered if Akari would still like him if he were a girl. He wondered if his parents would still like him. Would it matter now that they’d have Nikita? Would they even notice if he changed? Would they notice if he disappeared completely?

He didn’t have long to wonder, though, because there was a knock on the door--his uncle telling him to hurry up because breakfast was on the table and if he didn’t come down Kuma was going to get his portion. That was all the motivation he needed to pull the rest of his clothes on and throw the door open, loosely braiding his still damp hair over his shoulder as he ran out to sit at the table in the dining room between his aunt and grandmother, grinning ear to ear like he always did. He did his best to pretend that he was excited for his little brother… which he was, to a degree. He was just worried about Nikita taking his place, getting all the attention. He was worried about being left out, like he was just now. His parents had practically shoved him out, sent him away in the middle of the night to make space for his brother. Everyone at breakfast seemed genuinely excited to have a new addition, but Shouri was still on the fence.

Mari took notice. Maybe it was because she’d been in the exact same place thirty-four years ago, sitting in the hospital waiting room with Minako when she was seven years old, wondering what would happen to her now that her parents were replacing her with a new baby. She vaguely remembered Minako asking her what she was pouting for, telling her to be happy that she was getting a sibling--that she’d like baby Yuri when he finally came. _“I will not. He’s just going to cry and stink,”_ was her response, and Minako had laughed until the nurse finally emerged to tell them that they were allowed to come in to meet the new baby.

So, when they were finally alone in the laundry room, while Shouri was throwing the sheets into the industrial-sized washer and carefully measuring the detergent, Mari took the opportunity to corner him. “Hey, Shouri. How are you _really_ feeling about the new baby?” She raised an eyebrow, and Shouri practically jumped under her gaze.

He felt transparent. He shifted and looked away, and hoped that he could somehow keep his walls up. “I’m happy, I guess.” There was just something about Aunt Mari that made it impossible to hold up a lie though, and the fact that he didn’t know how she did it was off-putting.

“Oh yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

“ _Yeah_?”

“Well….”

“Well?”

“….Maybe not.” He gave in that easily, and Mari straightened up a little with a smug look as she pulled a cigarette out of its pack and held it between her lips. She didn’t dare light it--Yuri would have a fit if he found out that she was smoking near him, and it wasn’t worth the risk of setting off her nephew’s asthma or possibly causing him to develop even worse respiratory issues in his future. She sucked at the butt between her lips dryly, continuing to fold the sheets that had just come out of the dryer and waited. That was all she had to do. She knew her nephew well, and knew that silence was the greatest weapon against him. He couldn’t--and never had been able to--stand it when the room was silent, and if that meant that he had to break it himself, then he would. “It’s just….” Nailed it. “What if they don’t want me now that they’ll have Nikita? They already dumped me here and wouldn’t let me help out, so maybe they don’t want me to come back at all. Maybe I wasn’t good enough, so they’re just going to try again with Nikita.”

Mari understood all too well where Shouri was coming from, and decidedly tossed her cigarette into the nearby garbage bin, patting the top of the washer for Shouri to sit while she boosted herself up onto the dryer with minimal difficulty even at the age of forty-one. “I understand why you’re worried. I was exactly like this when your mom was born, you know? I hadn’t been doing well in school at the time, and I had to stay with a family friend while my Mom was recovering in the hospital. Back then, even if the baby and mother were healthy, the hospital would make them stay for a few days to make sure that everything was actually alright, and Dad stayed with her. They closed the onsen and everything until Yuri could come home, but they wouldn’t let me stay at the hospital with them. That was the longest week of my life. My parents didn’t even call to check on me or anything; I only found out later that Yuri had some complications after he was born and he couldn’t leave as soon as they would have liked.” Shouri honestly wasn’t sure why all this was relevant to his situation, but he listened and waited politely as his aunt paused to take a breath. “Well, I thought that they’d straight up abandoned me. I hadn’t wanted a younger sibling at all, and I made it clear throughout the whole pregnancy. So when Yuri was finally born, I thought they might have actually replaced me with the new baby.”

“Grandma and Grandpa aren’t like that, though,” Shouri commented, twisting the end of his braid around his finger, brows furrowed. The whole story seemed silly to him, and though he felt like he knew where it was going, he didn’t see how it fit in at all with what he was going through.

Still, Mari continued. “No, of course they’re not. They love me and Yuri both-- _a lot_. They weren’t always perfect, but they tried their hardest, and I grew up to appreciate that. I still feel bad, though, you know? I was a big pain for a long time, even when they were doing their best. It’s not easy, raising two kids and running an onsen at the same time, especially Yuri and I being so different. You see what I mean yet?”

When Mari lifted an eyebrow at him, Shouri looked away. He didn’t need to be lectured, and he was starting to get annoyed. “It’s not the same. They really hate me and they’re replacing me with Nikita just because I messed up. Maybe if I didn’t have asthma and I didn’t quit skating, then they’d still love me.” There was a waver in his voice. Tears weren’t far behind; Mari could hear it.

“Listen, Shouri. I’ve never seen two people more in love with each other and their kid than your parents. Did you know, for the first six months of your life, your mom wouldn’t even let anyone else hold you? He dragged you back and forth from practice and competitions instead of getting a babysitter because he couldn’t be away from you; as far as I know, he had you sleep right in between him and your dad because he was scared of something happening to you during the night.” She turned to him then, leaned over to wipe the tears off his cheeks. “And that cute nickname your dad calls you all the time?”

“ _Solnyshko_ ,” the dewy-eyed boy provided, and Mari nodded her thanks.

Keeping her voice soft and sincere, she pulled him close against her side so that neither of them would have to look at the other in the middle of such a sentimental talk. “I asked him what he was calling you one time, and he said it meant ‘sunshine’, which I thought was a pretty dumb nickname for a boy, but you know what he told me? That he couldn’t think of a better thing to call you. He said that you were a blessing, and that you were the missing piece in their family, the warmth and the brightness that they hadn’t even realized was missing until they had you.” She paused to collect her thoughts again as they began to stray from her original point; it allowed everything to sink in for Shouri as he absorbed what Mari was saying like a sponge. “I regret not realizing sooner how much my parents loved me, and how much they meant to me. If I had someone to tell me when I became a big sister, it would have saved so much trouble for me as an adult, trying to make it up to them. Your parents love you, Shouri, unconditionally. It doesn’t matter to them whether you’re a figure skater or a businessman or a fashion designer or a homeless bum; and your asthma definitely doesn’t change their feelings, either. They’re going to love you and your little brother equally and do their best for both of you as long as they possibly can. Don’t ever forget that.”

This seemed perfectly reasonable to Shouri. He thought about it long and hard, listening to something he’d buried deep inside of himself out of bitterness--a small voice that was actually quite intrigued and excited about the prospect of having a little brother. He still wanted a dog more than a brother; nothing would change that. But he also wondered what Nikita would look like, and what sorts of things he’d like to do, what TV shows he’d prefer to watch, and what music he’d prefer to listen to. Shouri wondered if he’d want to skate the same way his big brother had, wondered if maybe they’d both have asthma so he’d have someone he could relate to. Maybe he’d have glasses like their mom and silver hair like their dad. By the end of the day he’d find out for sure.

* * *

“ _Fuck_ \-- Goddamned fucking piece of… _motherfucking shit_ \--” As it turned out, Yuri could swear. And he could do it quite colourfully.

Yuri felt like he was being ripped in half. There was a pressure low in his pelvis that was so entirely uncomfortable that he couldn’t possibly keep walking, even if it helped keep him loose and relaxed and focusing elsewhere. He’d given up. There was no breathing through the contractions and thinking past the pain--they were strong and close together, his water still hadn’t broken, and he could hear the midwife discussing methods to speed things up with Viktor where they sat together on the couch.

It was already past noon now, and Yuri was totally exhausted. He was kneeling in front of an armchair, resting his head on his arms in what he’d found was the most comfortable position for him--quite similar to how he’d brought Shouri into the world, though in that case he’d had Viktor to hold onto. He wanted Viktor. He wanted his husband _desperately_ , but his pride kept him moaning into the upholstery, low and long and deep, and holding back the need to call out for his lover. As this contraction began to leave him, Yuri turned his head to push sweat-slick hair off his forehead and saw Viktor watching him, ignoring whatever the midwife was telling him and staring with a longing expression. Instead of inviting Viktor back, the labouring male just bit his lip and looked away, feeling the guilt hit him like a sack of bricks. He’d so much as told Viktor to fuck off earlier over a simple comment--Viktor was trying to be supportive even though Yuri knew he would have been much happier at a hospital with a real doctor, not a pushy older woman and a wiry little man with no medical training outside of first aid.

Yuri was on the edge. It hadn’t been like this with Shouri. This _hurt_. This didn’t feel empowering or peaceful or warm. This felt like he wanted to admit he was wrong and beg to be taken to the hospital. Viktor couldn’t possibly ever understand how this felt, and the idea that he’d told Yuri that he’d be fine had set him off. He hadn’t meant it. He’d snapped at everyone so far, though most of his miserable mood had been directed at Viktor, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to lie down and cry out both his pain and his frustration, but the doula was there with a cup of water and some encouraging words, and Yuri knew he was doing what was best for himself and the baby in the end….

…Until the next contraction hit hard and he lost every ounce of will that he had, breaking down into tears, wailing out heart-wrenchingly. Viktor couldn’t stand it and moved off the couch to dig the heels of his hands into his mate’s lower back, grinding back and forth in slow circles. With Viktor’s hands, so experienced on the subject of Yuri’s body, there was almost instant relief and Viktor couldn’t help but reciprocate the feeling. With the way his husband had been acting, he would have already rejected the attention if he really didn’t want it. “There you go, baby. You’ve got it.” These words whispered against the back of his neck and slow kisses placed on sweat-streaked skin had Yuri remembering his breathing though he made no move to lift his head while he sniffled pathetically, his erratic panting calming into deep, slow inhales and sighed out exhales that had his heart rate calming out of a near panicked state.

“Vitya--”

“Shh. I’ve got you.”

Yuri wanted to apologize, but he felt tired and his voice was weak, and all he could do was breathe for now while his husband supported him with strong hands. They stayed there like that with Viktor alternating between rubbing his lover’s lower back and pressing in on his hips as the pressure that sat low in his pelvis only increased over the hours that lead into twilight. Yuri’s mood only seemed to dampen, especially when he decided that he wanted to lay down to rest after a cup of tea and a light snack to keep his energy from depleting entirely, and he couldn’t seem to get comfortable at all. The usual relief of lying on his side had pain screaming through his hips and into his ribs and chest, making it difficult to breathe. Lying on his stomach obviously wasn’t an option, and lying on his back instantly brought tears to his eyes. “The baby’s posterior,” the midwife supplied from where she’d taken up knitting in the corner just to stay out of Yuri’s warpath, and after that, everything made a lot more sense. A prolonged, painful labour with most of the concentration in his lower back rather than his lower abdomen and the front of his pelvis. The pain when he lay on his back. Even at his last ultrasound, the tech had said the baby was sitting funny. She’d also said that they usually sorted themselves out and would change position several times before and during labour, so there was probably nothing to worry about.

“There’s still time for the baby to change position,” the doula pointed out helpfully, trying his best to be supportive as he had been with Shouri. The midwife just didn’t seem to be having it.

“No. He’s going to be born posterior. Just you wait and see.” The doula opened his mouth to protest; the older woman clicked her tongue and shot him a look. “I’ve been attending births long before you were even a thought, boy. I know what I’m talking about.”

Viktor found it incredible that she could tell from all the way across the room, especially when all she’d done was sit and watch since she got there. Yuri had accepted some marginal aid from the doula, whom he knew from Shouri’s birth and had hired as soon as they found out he was pregnant again with Yuzu. Of course, with Nikita there was no question in either of their minds who they would want to attend. He had always done well reading Yuri’s moods and his body, and was incredible at keeping him calm and focused. He was trying his best now, but the midwife always had something else to say. She was being realistic--they knew that--and she wasn’t wrong by any means. But there was something that put Yuri off about her and Viktor could tell, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

“We’ll just hope I’m right and that he’s not sitting transverse like he was at the last ultrasound. That would be an entirely different story. With the baby in the posterior position, there’s likely going to be some tearing, but that’s fixable. A transverse presentation generally ends up in a c-section if the baby can’t be convinced to come head-first.”

Viktor blinked at the woman dumbly, his hands stilling on his mate’s back. “Why? What is that?” He was honestly lost. Of course he was. He had no reason to be an expert on this until now. He looked to his husband who didn’t seem to have an answer for him, and then up at the doula who shifted uncomfortably where he sat by Yuri’s head, feeding him chips of ice.

“It’s uhm… when baby is sitting in mom’s pelvis shoulder-first. He won’t fit through the birth canal like that, so usually we try to turn him into a more favourable position, otherwise there’s no other option. It’s pretty rare, but it can be extremely dangerous for the baby with the possibility of the umbilical cord prolapsing and being crushed. If that happens--”

“Fucking stop! Just shut up, everyone! _Shut up_!” The volume of Yuri’s voice cutting into the otherwise quiet room and interrupting the doula’s soft, sweet voice left everyone in tense silence as he wheezed his way out of another contraction. “I’m trying to have an empowering experience and that’s _really_ hard with everyone distracting me. Stop telling me shit like this, I’m fucking stressed enough as it is. I don’t need to hear that--” He paused here to hiss at the build up for yet another surge. “--that my baby might be some kind of special fucking snowflake who ends up killing himself because he couldn’t stay in the right position. The last thing I want to be thinking of right now is the fucking possibility of a c-section, or a stillbirth-- Fucking, _fuck, fuck_ \-- God, it fucking hurts; Viktor, fuck!”

Viktor was right there to receive his mate into his arms as the younger male turned in toward him, burying his face down in his chest. The pressure had increased again, tenfold, and finally at the peak of the contraction Yuri felt more than heard the internal pop, resulting in the steady stream of slightly yellowed fluid soaking into the white towel between his knees. Viktor didn’t have to wait for the doula to reassure him that the colour was because the baby was overdue, and that it was perfectly normal. There was no reason to panic, especially now that much of what had been causing Yuri so much discomfort was gone. Likely, he’d even be ready to push soon, and that lifted an immense weight off the entire room.

* * *

Shouri had just returned from taking Kuma out for her afternoon walk and returned to a suspiciously quiet onsen. He slipped out of his shoes and up onto the tatami mats with a questioning look as he peeked into the dining room, the kitchen, some unoccupied guest rooms, the shower, and then the open air bath with no luck. Finally he gave up, heading for his mother’s old room when he heard hushed voices coming from the old banquet room. Without knocking, he slid the door open in his curiosity, only to see his aunt and her husband seated on the floor with a box between them, a random assortment of items scattered about. “What’s this stuff?” he asked, though he could see quite plainly that it was all figure skating costumes, old medals, some trophies, three sets of tiny figure skates, and a photo album open on Mari’s lap displaying a picture of, “Mom?”

His interest was piqued and Shouri scrambled into the room to sidle up to his aunt, flipping back to the first page without waiting for permission. Mari let him have it--she’d watched Yuri grow up and remembered most of the events of this album well. These were things that Shouri had never seen--Yuri’s earliest days in figure skating that had lead him to becoming a World Champion, married to the man of his dreams, with a family that he adored more than anything else. Watching the result of her little brother’s love as he looked at all the pictures of a young, chubby Yuri on tiny little skates was truly some kind of gift. His eyes widened and shone with admiration as they jumped from picture to picture, drinking everything in, flipping the page, repeating. There were pictures from every competition he’d ever entered, whether he won or not, and in every single one of them Yuri was grinning wide, absolutely _beaming_ with his love for the sport. There were some photos taken at practice as well; Yuri mid-air in a split jump, curved into a perfect layback spin, eyes closed as he relaxed into an Ina Bauer. Shouri hardly breathed as he examined each picture and committed them to memory.

Mari was just waiting.

Eventually he found it. The picture of fourteen-year-old Yuri in Tokyo for the Grand Prix Final, specifically to see the men’s division. With him stood prodigal figure skating God at only age eighteen, long-haired Viktor Nikiforov, much taller than Yuri with his skates still on. There was a flush across his cheeks and his hair was dishevelled having just come from the kiss and cry. There wasn’t much context for the picture, but there was a happiness in Yuri’s face that was somehow palpable even through the confines of the photograph as he clutched a rose and a small stuffed poodle in his hands. Next to the picture was a messily scrawled out note written in English and footed by clean Cyrillic letters--his father’s name. _“Join me in the Grand Prix soon!”_ it read, and Shouri didn’t miss the significance. He knew well enough by now, because it had been his favourite bedtime tale for most of his life. There was a romance to his parents’ story that Shouri had always found captivating, and it never got old.

“So, are you surprised?” Mari asked, leaning over with her palm supporting her chin as she watched her nephew with a smile. Shouri nodded, never taking his eyes off the picture in front of him--clearly one of the pinnacles of his mother’s life. “We’ve got one more thing for you, but you have to promise you’ll do whatever we tell you without complaining. Alright?”

This part had been amazing. What could really go wrong putting his trust in his Aunt’s hands? “Promise. Anything.”

She grinned, pulling out of the box a pair of boy’s skates that were well worn and a costume that Shouri had never seen before--all black, with flowing grey and white gossamer tendrils that were just long enough to create some movement in the costume. Mari saw the look before Shouri could formulate the words to ask. “This is from Yuri’s dark past; he skated to a selection from The Sixth Station, from the movie Spirited Away, and came in tenth. Go try it on.”

“But Aunt Mari--”

“Ah. You promised.”

Yes, he did, and with the look on his aunt’s face, Shouri knew there was no way he was getting off so easily. So he snatched up the costume and trudged dejectedly into his room to change clothes, returning only when he needed help pulling the zipper up in the back. Mari covered her mouth, hiding a small smile and Shouri scowled, looking about as threatening as a wet puppy. His aunt chuckled and his frown deepened. “It doesn’t fit,” he complained, and he wasn’t exactly lying; his legs were much longer than Yuri’s had been at the time, so his ankles were exposed, and there was fabric gathered around his waist where his body was much thinner. All in all, it was a sad attempt to get out of wearing it, but Mari just shrugged. It wasn’t like he’d brought any of his own practice clothes, so she had to make do with what they had.

“Get some socks on and grab your jacket. We’re going out.” She shouldered the worn pair of skates, standing to leave the room with her husband in tow. Mari knew very well that Shouri was going to try to fight her on it--she could see it as soon as his lips parted and he drew breath--so she shut him up before he could say anything. “Either that or you can help Touma scrub out the onsen. It’s a little overdue, and there was a big hairy guy in there yesterday--”

Shouri didn’t need any more convincing. He knew exactly what his aunt’s angle was, and at this point, he definitely preferred the idea of getting back on the ice over cleaning the hair out of the filters in the bath. The car ride over to the Ice Castle was silent with Shouri brooding in the backseat. As they pulled into the parking lot, he took two deep breaths with the aid of his inhaler, and he slipped out of the car to glare up at the massive building. Ever since his parents had bought the place, renovations had made it nearly unrecognizable in comparison to the small hometown rink that it had been before. Viktor’s carefully invested money was spent making Ice Castle Hasetsu a luxurious Olympic level facility that boasted an on-site gym, dance studio, and medical clinic. Buying the property next door had allowed them to expand and add a second rink, making the facility more accessible for everyone. They held regular exhibitions and invited top names in the world of figure skating to show off their skills, engage in fun off-season games, and of course kept up with the annual tradition of Hot Springs On Ice. Everything was state-of-the-art, and despite how much it had cost, Viktor and Yuri had kept it affordable and welcoming for the locals, encouraging people to come out for frequent family ice time, totally free to the public. Yuri often stepped in on the lessons for the smallest of the rising stars being coached, and Viktor popped into the intermediate classes with his own students when they could spare the time. The Ice Castle was finally living up to its name after eleven long years of work, and Viktor and Yuri were undoubtedly the King and Queen of this new empire.

So where did that leave Shouri? He didn’t like the idea of being the crowned prince and heir to his family’s fame and fortune. He was still reluctant to get back on the ice, and now more than ever, he wished he could crawl away under a rock to hide. The towering white face of the castle beamed down on him and he couldn’t help but feel intimidated by it; he’d managed to avoid entering this arena for so long, avoided all his rink mates, stayed as far away from the world of figure skating as he could for nearly eight months now. What if he ran into someone he knew? No. He definitely would, and then they’d bombard him with questions about what happened, why he left, how he’d been, and Shouri didn’t feel too keen on answering any of those questions.

The main arena was being occupied for what looked like a public skate day, as far as Shouri could tell. He followed Mari past, watching as people skated lazy circles with a selection of catchy pop songs playing loudly over the speakers. They had the lights low and the mirror ball out, so he knew that Yuuko was likely responsible for overseeing the event this time. Thankfully, where he was headed was much quieter. In fact, the secondary arena was completely empty, and Shouri sighed happily--if he was going to do this, he didn’t want to be made a spectacle. He was pretty certain that he would mess up, trip over the pick, lose his balance, fall on his face. He hesitated. “Go on,” Mari told him with a small smile, nudging him toward a bench. “Don’t want to keep your coach waiting.”

The long-haired boy gave her a funny look, but sat anyway, taking the skates she’d offered, untying the laces, and slipping his feet inside. Surprisingly, they were just about the right size and the leather was pliable, making the boots more comfortable than his own, which were left hanging in the closet back at home. He wiggled his toes, flexed his ankle. The weight of the blade was so unfamiliar after so long going without, and Shouri made a face. “Aunt Mari, I don’t--” He looked up. Mari was gone, and he lowered his eyebrows in a mix of annoyance and confusion. That was fine though. If she wasn’t going to stand on top of him and force him, then he wasn’t going to do it. He dipped to start pulling at the lace on his right skate.

There was a gasp from one side of the rink, toward the change room. “Lev, who is that? You don’t remember cousin Shouri, do you?” Shouri looked up and squinted as Otabek stooped over his son, clad in leopard-print pants and the tiniest leather jacket known to man, hands in the boy’s armpits as he flailed his legs in what was a very poor attempt at walking. “Shouri remembers you, though. Let’s go say hi.” Finally he scooped the six month old off the ground so he didn’t overexert himself, and he dropped down right next to Shouri on the bench--Shouri gave him an odd look, and Lev stared at him with his eyes like saucers.

“Uncle Beka…. What…?” He wanted to ask what he was doing here, but Shouri was so dumbfounded that he couldn’t even get the words out.

“If you don’t start warming up, Yura’s not going to be happy,” Beka informed him, softly chiding, and Shouri shook his head, wobbling up to his feet and then stepping out onto the ice like he was made for it.

He took a deep breath in through his nose, savouring the clean, sweet scent of man-made ice, and started off on his laps, skating forward and backward, throwing himself into some slow single jumps. There was a sort of ache in his chest that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and he realized it was because he missed this. He loved skating more than anything else in the world, even if the idea of competing again scared him. Just then, there, in that particular moment, he felt alive and happy, and he wanted to cry. So he stopped where he was in the middle of the rink and rubbed at his eyes with the sleeves of his jacket until a sharp voice startled him into looking up.

It was Yurio. “Hey! Quit crying and get back to warming up. You look horrible. Were those singles or were you tripping over your pick? It was so sloppy, I couldn’t tell the difference. Get out there and show me what a Nikiforov is capable of!”

For whatever reason, Shouri felt motivated rather than upset by this, and he immediately rushed off to practice his jumps with a bright grin plastered on his face and a warmth that he hadn’t felt in way too long. There was still a tiny piece of him left that wanted to fight this, but there was an even bigger, more rational part that said he didn’t have a choice, though. It was coach’s orders, after all.

* * *

There was nothing Viktor could do now. Yuri was at his breaking point, exhausted and completely inconsolable. For a long time after his water broke, it was just more of the same--painful contractions and no progress. Yuri walked around the house when he could. He was in and out of the bath, spent hours just sitting on the floor on his knees, crying, and now it was already almost five in the morning on April 29. That was over twenty-four hours since his first bad contraction, and an estimated thirty since labour had actually begun. He was beside himself, and Viktor didn’t know what to say to him anymore. Everything just set him off, like stepping on an active landmine, so Viktor did the only thing he was capable of doing without screwing up. He just cradled his mate, who was now leaning on him, his back to Viktor’s chest, gripping his mate’s hands as he suffered through to the end of the contraction.

The midwife rose from her seat finally, taking a pair of gloves out of her bag and slipping them on as she came across the living room to kneel between Yuri’s legs. He eyed her warily, but she ignored him, giving him a brief warning--she had to check, because if he really wasn’t progressing, then they had to take steps to ensure the baby’s safety whether Yuri agreed with it or not. She hummed, but didn’t withdraw her fingers. “On the next contraction, you’re going to have to start pushing, Yuri. I know you’re tired and in pain, but you have to do it for Nikita. Do you want to meet your baby, Yuri?” It was the softest Viktor had heard her speak since she’d arrived.

Yuri wasn’t biting. “I want you to get your fingers out of my ass,” he hissed, and Viktor recoiled. The midwife shrugged it off, because another painful contraction very quickly washed over him, and he did as told. She pulled away, sitting nearby as Yuri allowed his body to work.

Motivation from the midwife started out gentle, but she had no problem getting angry at Yuri and snapping back when he mouthed off at her, especially when he wasn’t doing what he needed to. The two bantered back and forth and Viktor just sat there, caught between his husband and the couch, completely and utterly terrified. He’d never in all his years of marriage, seen Yuri like this. He was an animal. Knowing Yuri, he’d feel bad about calling the midwife a bitch and telling her to, “Get bent.” and he’d be extremely embarrassed as well, but for now all bets were off. And Viktor was happy, because rousing that aggressive spirit seemed to be working.

After just over a half hour, Yuri was dropping Viktor’s hands to reach down, grasping their son under his arms to pull him up onto his chest. And with that, the tension should have dissolved like sugar in hot water. This was supposed to be the part where Yuri laughed and cried at the same time, babbling about how perfect their son was, how much hair he had, how big he was. But Nikita laid there in his mother’s arms, limp and not breathing.

“Nika?” Yuri turned him over, rubbed his back vigorously while the midwife suctioned out his mouth and nose, quick but calm. “Come on, baby. You’re not going to be all dramatic on your first day; don’t be like Daddy.” He was whimpering out these words, and Viktor withdrew his arms from around his mate to cover his mouth.

This wasn’t happening.

There was _no way_ this was happening.

This was a nightmare.

“Nika, _please_ \--” He was sobbing, and it was all Viktor could do to hold back his own tears.

There was dead silence for a split second and the midwife reached down, pinching the umbilical cord hard, holding it. Hardly a full second passed, but for Viktor and Yuri, it was an eternity. Nikita gasped, then wailed, and his parents cried with him. It was too close. Way too close. The relief was palpable--other than that, Nikita was perfectly healthy, and Yuri had found himself a good reason to cling to him for the first six months of his life, just as he’d done with Shouri, even though he’d promised Viktor he wouldn’t hoard the baby again.

Once everything had calmed down and Nikita was bathed, weighed and measured, Yuri called his family while Viktor gave him his first meal out of a bottle. He was ready to sleep, curled up in his bed after a hot shower, swaddled up in a fresh pair of pyjamas, but he missed his Shouri, and he wanted Mari to bring him over immediately. Yes, he was aware of the time. No, he didn’t care. He’d walk over to get his son if he had to. Begrudgingly, Mari woke the family and piled them into the car at six AM. Shouri was probably more alert than anyone else that morning.

* * *

“…He’s squishy.”

Shouri looked utterly disappointed as he squinted down at his baby brother, head tilted to one side where he was cuddled up to his mother’s side and poking his brother in the cheek. This was not what he was expecting when he’d imagined having a little brother at all. Nikita was practically a raw beef liver--completely pliable and just about the same colour and consistency. Still, his parents seemed to be pretty happy, even if his mother looked about ready to drop into a coma at any moment. Everyone else just stood around. The only one who dared get anywhere near the new baby was Yurio, and he didn’t care what kind of face Yuri was making at him; he wanted to see what colour hair was under that ridiculous poodle-eared hat. He pulled it off. A full head of thick black hair.

“How much did you say he weighed?” Mari asked finally, sounding generally disinterested despite the fact that she was smiling. “He looks like a three-month-old.”

Lev flailed and laughed right on cue, more a reaction to his papa making faces at him than in agreement that Nikita was already almost half as big as he was. Yuri beamed, clearly proud of himself as he answered, “Ten pounds, exactly.”

“Oh my. He didn’t get that from our side of the family. Mari and Yuri were both relatively average,” Hiroko remarked, sounding somewhat incredulous. “If I remember correctly, Mari was six and a half and Yuri was closer to eight.”

“So he was a fat pig even as a baby.” Yurio’s statement had Viktor’s narrowed eyes pinned on him, but it didn’t phase the blond Russian even in the slightest. He bent over to pull the stupid hat back on over the baby’s head with a bored look, finally shrugging and straightening himself up. “Well, whatever. Hopefully he grows up tall and not fat. He’ll probably be fat, though. Lev is going to be taller.” With that, Yurio snatched his son up out of his husband’s arms and held him so he was close enough that he could reach out to grab one of the curly poodle ears hanging off the side of Nikita’s hat. “See this Lev? This is your enemy. Remember him well because one day, you’re going to be staring down at him from the top of the podium.”

At this, Viktor burst out laughing, and the whole family turned to him, completely surprised. “I think you’re wrong, _koshechka_. Look, they’re already kissing.” And sure enough, when Yurio looked back down, his son had leaned forward, squishing Nikita’s cheeks in his hands, and was giving him a slobbery kiss directly on the mouth. The Ice Tiger was utterly disgusted. “Yuri, we should start making wedding plans!”

“They’re just babies, Viktor. You can’t do that,” his husband scolded him gently, but he was smiling, watching the events with a soft expression.

Viktor whined, “But they’re in love!”

“Like Hell they are,” hissed the blond and lifted his son back up onto his shoulder, turning away, getting ready to leave. “Forget you ever saw his face, Levonechka. You’re never going to be on the same continent as him again if I can help it.”

For whatever reason, the fact that Otabek paused in the doorway to flash Yuri and Viktor a thumbs up had Yuri in stitches. Maybe he was just delirious from the exhaustion hitting him like a ton of bricks, but there was something so funny about the fact that Otabek was on board Viktor’s newly built ship that Yuri just couldn’t stop himself. At some point, Viktor took the opportunity to snatch his son up out of his husband’s arms, carrying him around to Shouri’s side of the bed with a soft smile as he instructed his older son to hold his arms out.

“He’s a little heavy, so just cross your legs and hold him in your lap like that, _da_? There.” He settled the sleeping infant into his big brother’s arms, and watched Shouri alight with a new appreciation for his baby brother. “Just like that. Amazing; you’re already the best big brother. What do you think?”

Shouri stared down as Nikita finally stirred awake for the first time since the appearance of the rest of his family. “Is he going to get bigger?” Viktor made a soft sound of affirmation. “Then I guess I like him.” Yuri pulled him sideways, petting his hair and kissing the side of his older son’s head, cuddling close. Viktor visibly swelled with pride, wiping his eyes before anyone else could see the tears that had gathered. This was his family that he and Yuri had created, and it was perfect.

Yuri turned to take Viktor’s phone off the nightstand and held it out to him, the Russian pausing for a moment in confusion. He’d been upset with Shouri, but this time…. “Commemorative photo?” Yuri asked, and Viktor completely froze, face flushing bright red with embarrassment, arm outstretched to receive his phone. Oh God. He couldn’t believe, after all these years, that Yuri remembered that still. Yuri laughed softly, grinned, and Viktor took his phone, standing upright with a small smile, sheepish but amused.

“Sure.”


	12. Sojourn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst. Follow me on Tumblr and IG, @Neoniichan. Feel free to message me any time and send asks or whatever. I'm lonely and bored.
> 
> The cursory life update: I now have four cats, and I'm so frickin stoked for the YOI Shit Bang being run by some other writers here on AO3. The one I know primarily is Kashoku, who is the writer of some of my favourite fanfics on this site. If you haven't come across any of her work, look her up, but please mind the tags and read at your own discretion. That's the whole reason the Shit Bang exists--because some triggered morons decided to write up a list of authors who they believe to be "shit" because of the content they post (including anything that even remotely suggests Yurio might have a sexuality, a/b/o dynamics which are somehow transphobic and misogynistic???, mpreg, Viktor being a lazy husband and Yuri being a good housewife, and my personal favourite: the use of mental illness as a plot device). They repeatedly refer to the people on the list as "disgusting" and "gross" among other things and then handed out the list to like-minded SJWs who then began to bully and harass anyone who was lucky enough to be on the list--including death threats and the like, which is absolutely unacceptable.
> 
> Hence, I've decided to join in on the Shit Bang. As time to post my contribution draws near (August 31), I'll likely put SMAA into intermittent bouts of hiatus, and as always the updates are going to end up being totally sporadic. Luckily, I have chapter thirteen already almost three pages in, so it shouldn't be too long of a wait, as long as I can get it where it's going without getting writer's block.
> 
> Notes for this chapter? Uhm. I wrote it really quick, and I'm not 100% satisfied with it, but I think I got down everything that I needed. The sections are a little short, and might be lacking in emotion, but so am I--both short and lacking in emotion. I feel drained, so if this chapter feels particularly... I dunno, in shades of grey? Anyway, that's why. Hopefully everyone will still enjoy though, and once again, thank you to everyone who reads, comments, or leaves kudos. It's always so appreciated, and it really drives me to keep going, even when there are times that I just want to quit.

He would always remember his first time on his own.

He wobbled, flailed his arms, wind milled them dramatically, lifted a leg to try and steady himself, and before he knew it, Nikita was laying on his back in the middle of the ice, staring up at the ceiling. He blinked rapidly, stunned as he lay like a starfish, feeling the cold creep through his jacket to slowly chill his small body. It took a moment, but an ache rose up in the back of his head and he frowned. It hurt so bad that tears sprung up in his eyes and his bottom lip trembled. He whimpered.

A familiar face appeared in his line of vision. Big, brown eyes in stark contrast to his own exotic, almond-shaped blue-grey ones, and rounded cheeks which they shared. A slightly curled ponytail hung almost close enough to tickle his nose. “Are you okay, Nika?” Shouri tilted his head a little, concern welled up in his eyes as he drew his brows together and reached for his baby brother’s hands. “Come on, let me help you up. Does it hurt anywhere?”

Nikita thought for a minute. “My head,” he responded, whining a little and whimpering when his big brother pulled him up to his feet with the aid of their father. When had Dad gotten there, anyway? He was fast.

“You slipped, _zvezda moya_ ,” he purred with amusement, lifting the four-year-old into his arms and cuddling him close as he ran his fingers over the back of the boy’s head. “That was quite a fall, and you didn’t cry or anything. What a big boy! Papa’s so proud.” Nikita hurriedly scrubbed the tears from his eyes with mittened hands, wiping his nose on his sleeve to show his father how tough he really was with a goofy smile. Shouri stood at their side and held his brother’s free hand, concerned, but happy that Nikita seemed to be okay.

“Daddy, you can put me down now,” Nikita informed his father, matter-of-fact, and wiggled slightly until Viktor let him slip down onto the ice once more. He wobbled again, but this time Shouri was there to grab onto him and keep him steady, and he clung to his older brother hard, grinning up at his father as brightly as he possibly could. “See? I’m doing it!”

In reality, all he ended up doing most of the time was stepping clumsily while Shouri skated slowly backward, dragging his brother along. Every once in a while, Shouri would offer to show him something cool and when Nikita practically screeched with excitement, the older boy would speed off to perform some jump or spin that had the younger watching him in awe. Shouri was Nikita’s hero, and he wanted to be as beautiful and graceful on the ice as his older brother was. He’d grown up to be tall for his age, but his metabolism wasn’t quite as quick as Shouri’s and he loved everything that his mother fed him--needless to say he was a little on the pudgier side and had the elegance of a prepubescent flamingo, but he _loved_ his brother and he _loved_ the ice and nothing was going to stop him from feeling like he was even close to being on par with Shouri’s finesse.

His brother pushed away again to show off a relatively simple back scratch spin, and Nikita decided to try it for himself. He stuck his arms out, swung them as hard as he could to one side to get the momentum he needed, twirled, and found himself staring at the ceiling once again. He blinked. Shouri stood over him again. “Maybe you should practice the basics first, and when you get good at that you can try some spins.” Shouri tried to be reassuring as he tried to help his brother up, but this time it was just too much and Nikita wailed, going immediately red in the face. The next time he felt himself lifted up off the ice, it was a much smaller frame that he was held against, softer hands feeling over the back of his head, and a comforting voice murmuring comfortingly to him.

“Oh Nika, baby. It’s alright. Just a little bump. Shhh, baby; don’t cry. Mama’s here.” Yuri rocked his younger son against his chest, sitting on the ice in his winter boots rather than a pair of figure skates. He breathed deeply to control the anxiety that inevitably flared up when he thought his child might be in danger, kissing the thick black hair at the side of his head. The crying slowly reduced to a simmer and Nikita lay against his mother’s body, nuzzling into his shirt while his head pounded. “It hurts, doesn’t it, baby?” Nikita nodded, and Yuri hummed against his son’s head, looking up over the dark locks to where Shouri and Viktor stood, clearly concerned. He raised an eyebrow at his husband, quirking it toward the far end of the ice and Viktor instantly perked up, seeming to have some understanding of what Yuri was going to ask. “Hey, Nika. Want to see Daddy do something cool? A long time ago he used to be a famous figure skater--the best in the whole world. Pretty amazing, right?” Nika responded with a wide-eyed awe-filled nod, staring reverently at his father. “Vitya, show him your quad flip.”

Viktor was already making a lap to build up the required speed and Shouri was perking up--it had been so long since he’d seen his father last perform any jumps at all, let alone a quad, and every time was like a treat to him. “I don’t know about quads. I’m a little out of practice,” Viktor returned thoughtfully, though he still wanted to do everything he could to make his boys happy. Nikita had peeled away from his mother’s chest and was watching with bleary blue eyes, a finger between his lips as he sucked on it absent-mindedly. He attempted a single, found himself happy with the result, and moved on to a double. Perfection. It seemed he still had it in him. He gathered a little more speed, balanced himself on the correct edge, picked off, and brought his arms in toward himself. He counted four rotations and landed cleanly, breathing out, relieved and excited all at once. He gaped, and it quickly turned into a grin which he directed at his family, cheering him on from center ice.

“That was amazing, Vitya! _Beautiful_!” His husband had clapped his hands over his mouth and looked nearly on the brink of tears. Shouri was practically bouncing with elation. “Now show them that step sequence you liked. The one in Eros. Do you remember it?”

“That was forever ago. I don’t think I do.”

“ _I_ do,” Yuri returned with a grin, and his husband felt himself smiling right along with the mother of his children. It was clearly a challenge and a poke at Viktor’s age.

The older man scoffed, though the sound was playful. “Well maybe you should get your skates on and show me. I won’t take heckling from someone who hasn’t skated in fifteen years.”

This seemed to set Yuri off, and he urged Nikita up from his lap, handing him off to Shouri who kept him steady on the ice. Yuri pushed up to his feet and carefully made his way back toward the boards. The last thing the Japanese man wanted was to admit that Viktor might be right--he was sorely out of practice and knew that all the technical elements of the program would be out of the question, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t skated at all since retiring to coach alongside his husband. He’d been on the ice intermittently since then, and could often be found at the Ice Castle, though motherhood had taken precedence and severely limited the time he actually spent skating. Since Nikita’s birth, however, he hadn’t been back on the ice at all, and had discouraged his younger son from starting to skate on his own until much later than Shouri, who had been fitted for his first pair of skates just after he’d started walking.

“Just you wait, Nikiforov. We’ll see,” he hissed in rebuttal as he made it to the edge of the ice.

“That’s _Katsuki_ -Nikiforov to you, thank you very much.”

Yuri didn’t answer, choosing to slip off silently to the locker room to change into his untouched skates, hidden away in his personal locker.

Back on the ice, Viktor was practically vibrating with excitement. To say that his and Yuri’s relationship had become almost a boring routine by now would be an understatement. They’d hit a sort of block where they stayed close to each other out of habit rather than necessity. They weren’t exhilarated by each other’s presence. They couldn’t surprise each other anymore. It was lacklustre, and both men had been hoping for some way to reinvigorate their relationship. Viktor felt, in this moment, more anticipation to see Yuri than he had in a while, and he found that refreshing. “He might take a little while to warm up,” Viktor told his sons with a trembling inhale, rubbing his bottom lip with a gloved index finger. “But I promise, you’ve never seen anything so beautiful as your mother on ice.”

The Asian returned several minutes later, walking up to the boards like a pro to take his skate guards off; Yuri had kept up with ballet, focusing more on the choreography of his and Viktor’s students’ programs while Viktor handled everything else as they power coupled their stars through competitions, so he was still quite fit. The yoga and tai chi that he’d recently been indulging in had helped keep him quite limber, though despite his best efforts, he retained a small belly from his pregnancy with Nikita. He lingered at the edge of the ice with heavy uncertainty, Shouri cheering him on and rousing Nikita to do the same--though this was probably a bad idea because the four-year-old started to bounce and promptly ended up on his backside--and Yuri looked up to his softly smiling husband, who extended a hand in invitation.

Yuri took his first step in five years, timid, slowly gaining confidence as he came closer to where Viktor stood. He picked up a little speed, arms shooting out in front of him as if he were trying to find his balance, and crashed against his husband’s body, effectively spinning them together until the pair were laughing into each other’s shoulders and stopped only so they could tentatively kiss with a sort of affection that had been lacking lately. For a while, they skated together to help Yuri completely reacclimatize, their movements eventually turning into something slightly more flirtatious, an improvised dance. At one point, Yuri breathlessly asked Viktor to try a lift, and they had marginal success though Viktor didn’t bring his husband as high up into the air as he could have in his youth. Yuri still maintained a lovely position through spins and dips, practicing some single jumps in awe-inspiring synchronicity with his husband. And it really was amazing how well they moulded together even after such a lengthy dry spell.

Shouri couldn’t take his eyes off them--this was something he remembered seeing, not only in all the videos of their exhibition pairs skate, but also in their relationship as he grew up. He hadn’t even realized that something had been missing between his parents until just then in that moment. His breath caught. “They look like a king and queen dancing at a ball. Don’t you think so, Nika?”

“ _Nyet._ ”

Shouri frowned and gave his baby brother a puzzled expression. “Why not?”

Nikita pointed at Viktor. “Daddy’s the princess.” And then he pointed at Yuri. “And Mama’s the frog.”

Apparently the words were just loud enough for his parents to hear, because Viktor immediately snorted, laughing hard enough that he couldn’t possibly keep an eye on his mate to gauge their proximity, and the two crashed into each other, this time landing in a heap instead of gracefully recovering. Even wheezing underneath his husband’s larger frame, Yuri was still a little put out. “What do you mean I’m the frog?” This only prompted Viktor to laugh harder, and Yuri pouted. “Oh yeah. No, go ahead. Laugh it up, _Princess_.”

“I don’t mind being the princess. Call me Viktoria, Yuri!”

Despite everything, this had Yuri laughing again and he turned over to hug his husband against his body happily. Everything was perfect again, back to the way things used to be. They wrapped up for the day after Yuri performed a spectacular rendition of Eros featuring doubles instead of quads--Viktor still griped about Yuri’s pathetic axel out of a spread eagle, which had Yuri crossing his arms and shifting his hips in a very motherly sort of way--and the family left the Ice Castle to get take-out for dinner for the first time in ages, too exhausted to prepare their own home cooked meal.

That night, Yuri and Viktor made passionate love, a tangle of limbs and sweat, gasping and moaning and writhing with immeasurable ecstasy--quietly, of course; they didn’t want to wake the kids--and when they were completely spent, they fell asleep in the middle of the bed together without the energy required to clean themselves off or dress themselves. It surprised them both to find that there was still this much unbridled lust buried deep in the darkest recesses of their marriage, and it gave them both hope moving forward out of their rut.

* * *

Weeks went by. Yuri and Viktor’s renewed energy seemed to be staying, keeping them wrapped around each other every moment that it was physically possible. It was refreshing for everyone around them, who’d been sensing the tension between them recently. Of course it stood to reason that no one wanted to think that this was simply the calm before the storm, but Viktor’s hip and knees had been bothering him again since taking up skating a little more actively and Yuri had been begging him to see a doctor despite knowing that his husband would only wave it off. He just took some painkillers and threw himself back out there again, even beginning to talk animatedly about perhaps choreographing another exhibition skate to perform, just for the thrill of it.

Yuri had to admit that, despite what he felt, Viktor’s program was built with the same level of inspired genius as the self-produced programs of his legendary past, and watching it slowly come together over the course of a solid month actually felt like some kind of special privilege. Even after all these years of marriage, Yuri still considered himself Viktor’s number one fan and was much less afraid to tell his husband so; in these times, it seemed to spur him on and impassion him, which wasn’t really Yuri’s intention, though he couldn’t deny the result’s unspeakable beauty. Yuri attended every practice session and gave his constructive criticism, though all he really wanted was for his beloved soul mate to take proper care of his body. Sometimes it just wasn’t worth the fight.

On the last day of January in Viktor’s forty-third year, Yuri watched as harsh reality finally consumed his husband in the most savage way possible. Viktor hit the ice coming out of a jump, and though he was still fully conscious after knocking his head pretty hard, he had landed in an odd position, hitting both his hip and right knee with a sickening crack. Yuri’s blood had run cold as he watched his mate struggle to move, dialling for an ambulance before he’d even made it out to check his husband’s condition. He knew. He _just knew_.

The x-rays taken at the hospital showed fractures on top of extremely weak bones and joints. Viktor’s hips were worn out, ready to give from years of abuse, and his knees had practically disintegrated. In most cases the doctors would remark on how they were relieved, how it wasn’t as bad as they thought. Upon delivery of Viktor‘s state, however, the doctor shook his head--it really couldn’t be any worse and this was probably the most horrific case he’d seen. If he’d come in sooner, they could have caught the multiple contributing factors before they’d gotten to this degree--fixing it would have been much easier. Viktor wasn’t going to be leaving upright any time soon--he was placed on strict bed rest, admitted to wait until they could squeeze him in for immediate and extensive surgeries to repair his damaged body. Even then, he’d likely need a lot of physical therapy and there was no saying for certain that his body would actually handle the repairs well. It really couldn’t have been worse.

The kids stayed at the onsen. Yuri stayed with Viktor. He didn’t want to say he told Viktor so. Instead he breathed out, held his husband’s hand, tried to smile. “We’ll get through this.”

Viktor didn’t respond to his husband right away, because for the first time ever, his words really and truly felt like a lie.

“As soon as I can walk again, I’m going to finish that program.”

* * *

She was _so_ cute, and Shouri was completely head over heels for her. He’d shared classes with Akari Sato since her family had moved into the area in his third year of elementary school. He’d been ten years old, but he’d been instantly enamoured with her Kanto dialect and the way she did her hair up in pigtails. She was smart and she was a good artist, and her hair was the same length as Shouri’s. He stood up for her against the other boys a countless number of times despite the fact that he ended up outcasting himself and distancing himself from people he thought were his friends. It had hurt, of course, but in the long run he felt like it was the right thing to do. He didn’t want to be friends with a bunch of bullies, anyway.

It was his first day of junior high, and Shouri stared up at the list outside the school, searching for his name among the hundreds that were posted. He was focusing hard enough that he didn’t notice the figure of his long-time crush sneaking up on him, and jumped when she touched his shoulder. “1C,” she told him, pointing over his shoulder. “Looks like we’re in the same class again, Shou-chan. Such a relief, right?” Her voice was bright and airy and Shouri gaped stupidly, trying to form words as his face heated to an impossible shade of red.

“Ahh… yeah, I was hoping-- I mean… I wasn’t _hoping_ , not like that-- Uhm.” And when he did manage to muster his voice, it betrayed him entirely. “What I mean is… I’m happy. That I’ll get to spend more time with you. Not like… _with_ you… I mean, I’d like that too, but not like--” He finally stopped himself, slapping a hand over his face and grumbling out something in frustrated Russian.

To his surprise, Akari giggled, hiding her mouth shyly behind thin, delicate fingers. “Actually, I’d like to spend more time with you too, if that’s okay.”

Shouri nodded slowly, “Of course it is. We could have lunch together, maybe?”

“And karaoke after school?”

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. The movement was thoughtful and Akari tilted her head to one side in silent askance. “I have figure skating practice tonight at the Ice Castle, but… you’re more than welcome to come with. I’ll skate something special, just for you. I can even walk you home after. My parents don’t mind as long as I’m home in time for dinner.”

This time it was Akari’s turn to blush, though she seemed much more controlled than Shouri, and was able to smile, speak evenly as she lowered her hand to clasp it with the other. Clearly, both of them were brimming with some kind of unresolved emotion, and years of staying silent was finally taking its toll. With Akari’s next words, everything was cemented. The thing that Shouri had found himself pining after as he grew up watching the beauty of his parents’ romance was finally making itself available, and neither he nor Akari Sato were about to let it slip through their fingers.

“I’d love that. It sounds like a perfect first date.”


	13. Requiem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, where to start. First of all, I've been having it extra rough since the last update, so I'm not sorry for any of this. To put it simply, my roommate is a piece of shit, part of my phone's screen is not working, and my laptop won't log into my main account so I'm using a Temp... which means that every time I turn it off, it can take up to forty minutes to boot the fucker up, and then it's reset everything, because temp files are all deleted when you shut the computer off, I guess? Put it this way. I nearly lost all my progress on this chapter and other projects I'm working on, though luckily my old files are still accessible, so I rescued them and put them on a USB stick along with the pictures of my old horse from before she was stolen. All that and my cat nearly had to take a trip to the vet after eating some chicken bones that my roommate left on the kitchen counter, which... I bottlefed my cat from the time she was about five weeks old--she is my baby, and anyone who does anything to hurt her, whether intentional or not, will at least be in tears by the time I'm done with them.
> 
> Sooo... needless to say, I'm a little upset. There's more, but I'm not going to rant on it too much. Anyone who's still here likely just wants to get to the story. So, without further bitching and against all odds. Chapter Thirteen.
> 
> PS. I didn't even edit the second half. Sorry.

“It makes me sick.”

“What?”

“ _Them_. Look at them!” Nikita switched to the back cam on his phone, pointing it directly at his older brother who was leaned across the boards, nuzzling noses with his girlfriend, the extraordinarily beautiful Akari Sato. He whispered something to her and she giggled, turning her head to fit their lips together sweetly. Shouri was the first to pull away, nipping at Akari’s lip as he went. She giggled again and pulled him back by the collar of his sweater. Nikita gagged as loudly as he could, watched Lev on the screen of his phone choke on his Pepsi, going red in the face as he coughed and rolled over onto his stomach and covered his eyes. “It’s gross.”

Lev was quiet for a moment as he regained himself and sat back up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Yeka and Papa have been like that lately. Really squishy. It’s weird.” He wheezed, and Nikita glared over the top of his phone at the happy couple. “Papa actually said to me the other day, ‘We’re so happy we adopted you, Levonechka.’ That’s weird, right?”

Nikita switched back to the face cam and shrugged. “My parents are always hugging me and telling me they love me, like all the time. It’s annoying.” He looked back up at Shouri and Akari as they laced their fingers, resuming their lip lock much more aggressively. “I think he just put his tongue in her mouth.”

“Ew. Seriously?” Nikita didn’t answer so Lev frowned, reached for his phone to check the time as the sound of footfall down the hall crept uncomfortably close to his bedroom door. “I think Yeka’s awake. I should probably go to bed before I get in trouble.”

The black-haired boy nodded and gave Lev a small smile, a warmer expression than he cared to muster for anyone else “Yeah. I don’t want you to be late for school because I kept you up. Good luck on your test tomorrow, too.”

“Well… today. But thanks anyway. Love you, Keshka.” Lev yawned, shifting to bury himself down in his blankets and nuzzled into one of his pillows.

“You too, Levuskha. Sleep well.” With that, the boys ended the call, and Nikita sighed happily. He might have only been fifteen, but he was _so sure_ that his lifelong best friend was the only person he wanted or needed in his life. He didn’t need to fully understand romance to know that what he felt for Lev was extremely special. He didn’t feel like this with his friends at school, male or female, he couldn’t possibly care less about dating and had already turned down more than one love confession. He was polite, of course, and he always explained that he didn’t want to try because he didn’t want to end up hurting the girl later on down the line if he couldn’t feel the same way about her. He just knew it wasn’t going to work out. Nikita had eyes only for Lev.

Shouri sped by, skating backwards, ponytail dropped over his right shoulder as he grinned and tapped the back of his baby brother’s head on the way by. “Dad texted. He’s on the way, so you’d better at least pretend you’re warmed up and running through your program.”

“Yeah, well you were supposed to be helping me and instead you were just sucking face with your ugly pet horse,” he hissed back bitterly, setting his phone behind the boards before pushing off to start practicing his figures because he knew very well that his father wasn’t happy with his free leg lately. It didn’t help that he always seemed to have Shouri gliding around like he was made of gossamer, performing the most fluid jumps and spins almost like it was effortless for him. It bothered him that Shouri refused to compete when he was so clearly cut out for it, and any semblance of idolization he had built for his older brother had long been extinguished. It was stupid. Shouri was more interested in spending time with his girlfriend than anything else.

He heard his brother burst out laughing, hard enough that the long-haired male skated directly into the boards and he had to wipe his eyes with a gloved hand. “ _Pet horse_ ,” he wheezed, cracking into another uncontrollable peal of laughter. Nikita just narrowed his eyes, swung his leg up into a waltz jump, circling off into a back crossover. What the Hell was so funny, anyway?

“Nika, those are the worst crossovers I’ve ever seen from you! Stretch that leg and push away from the circle!” Nikita looked up when his father came through the doors of the change room and into the arena, attention finally drawn away from where Shouri had slid down the boards and was now sitting on the ice, head thrown back and gasping for air. It was a welcome distraction. He shook his head and tried to follow through with his father’s advice, knowing that he could be quite a demanding coach when he thought that his students could do better. “Good; much nicer, Nikita. I’m proud of you.” He stepped out onto the ice and Shouri’s laughter ceased immediately.

“Dad, what are you doing? Mom’s going to kill you if he finds out.”

“I feel fine, _solnyshko_. What Mama doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” Viktor pushed off stiffly, making slow laps around the outside of the rink. Shouri frowned and Nikita stopped what he was doing to stare, exchanging a quick and nervous glance with his brother. They both knew. Their father had only been on the ice intermittently since his multiple surgeries and hours of physical therapy, and their mother did his best to keep it that way; but Viktor was a go-getter, still sad to see his empire handed off to a younger generation of skaters though he was now fifty-three and long retired from competitive skating. Yuri had still managed to perform in the odd exhibition up until recently, but he recognized that his aging bones and muscles just wouldn’t allow for that kind of strenuous activity anymore and had officially quit for good. He spent more time helping his sister with the onsen than at the arena, lately only showing up to watch his younger son compete. “Anyway, I think your class is arriving. You shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Shouri looked up as a crowd of children between the ages of eight and twelve came down the hall behind the Plexiglas, and he lifted himself up off the ice to dust himself off. One of the kids noticed him and pointed, alerting the others to what he’d seen and Shouri gave a rueful little smile. “Now they’re going to think I fell and I’m never going to live it down.” He sighed, pushing off toward the barrier so he could step off the ice and head down to the second arena to teach his class, leaving Viktor and Nikita alone with each other.

There was dead silence before Viktor sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Alright. Let’s run through the choreography for your short program--skate through with just singles and we’ll talk about the technical composition after.”

“I want to do a quad flip,” Nikita blurted, practically yelling over the end of his father’s sentence. Viktor stared at him, almost taken aback. Nikita was a quiet, soft-spoken boy; he wasn’t any where near as exuberant or rambunctious as his older brother, and Viktor had grown accustomed to his younger son making silent appeals rather than deafening demands. His voice hung in the empty air of the arena and Viktor continued to watch him, brows raised. “I mean…. I want to make an impact this season. No. I _have_ to. I want to go to the Grand Prix Final on my first try, just like you and Mom and Uncle Yurio did.”

Slowly, gently, Viktor breathed out and smiled, filled to the brim with pride. “Of course, _zvezda moya_. This is your senior debut. You’ll have at least four quads perfected before the first GP event, and you’ll use them all in competition. You’re a Nikiforov, and your throne is waiting for you.”

With these words, something in the dark-haired boy awakened, smouldering just below the surface of his skin and Viktor could feel it like it was a tangible thing. Nikita might look and act more like Yuri, but he had the competitive spirit of his father and the raw talent to back it up despite a rough start as a chubby, awkward child. He swelled with pride and anticipation when he was praised and absolutely _glowed_ when he made the podium in competition, and he always did. Nikita was a star, an artist, a creative genius. He captivated audiences and commanded their attention in ways that Shouri never had and Viktor couldn’t help but feed off it, living vicariously through his fifteen-year-old son.

He would make this senior debut of Nikita’s as amazing as his own had been. No. More amazing. He wanted Nikita to take no less than gold all the way through to the last event of the season. His child was a prodigy, and he was going to become that legendary name in figure skating that his father once had been, no matter what the cost was. And he had the program to do it: a free skate ten years unfinished to complement the short program that was completely tailored to suit all of Nikita’s strengths. It couldn’t be any easier than this.

Viktor would win again. He’d just have to have his victory through the accomplishments of his son.

* * *

Dinner was quiet.

Shouri was late.

Mom swilled a mouthful of tea, and Dad placed a strip of breaded pork into his mouth.

Nikita watched his parents quietly, nibbling at his katsudon and texting Lev under the table.

“You were on the ice again,” Yuri finally said as the tension in the room finally peaked. His voice was soft, but in the stillness of the air, it rang in Nikita’s ears. He held his breath. It was coming again. Nikita knew what to expect by now. “Viktor, you know you’re not supposed to be skating yet.”

More silence. Nikita lowered his head and bit his lip, tapping out quickly and hitting send. _They’re doing it again._

Viktor’s response was as stiff as his aged body had been on the ice. “Who told you? Nikita?” He looked at his younger son, his pride and joy. Nikita immediately flushed and dropped his gaze. Viktor didn’t need any more than that to see his second son’s innocence. “Shouri.”

“You’re supposed to be off the ice for the year, Viktor. And don’t tell me it’s stupid. If you don’t let your knees heal properly this time, you’re going to have to go back in for another surgery and I don’t think either of us are prepared to handle that.” Yuri was worried, and it could be heard plain as day in his voice, but Viktor didn’t seem to be biting, and Nikita didn’t like where it was headed. “I hate seeing you in pain. I know you are. You’ve already finished off the last prescription I picked up for you. Vitya-- Why won’t you listen to me?”

The older male huffed, an irritated sound and he shoved a hand through his hair, practically throwing his chopsticks down onto the table. “I’ve heard this enough times, and I’m sick of it. I’ll skate as much and as often as I like, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Just because you gave up doesn’t mean I have to. And what about your son? I need to be there as an effective coach for him. He has a big season coming up, and he’s going to win no matter what I have to do to get him there. That’s all there is to it.”

Yuri raised his voice and Nikita flinched. “You’re changing the subject! This isn’t about Nikita’s season. This is about you ruining your fucking knees again, Viktor. What the Hell are you going to do if you fall this time? That’s another expensive surgery, _again_. I’m surprised you don’t set off the metal detectors in the airports when you travel. For God’s sake, you’re fifty-three. It’s time to act your age and just coach from the side lines.” Yuri slammed his hands down, a little harder than he’d meant to. Nikita pressed himself into the back of his chair.

Those words hung over the table way too long.

Nikita’s phone chimed. _I’m here for you. You can call if you have to._

Both his parents stared at him, and Nikita quickly replied with a single heart.

“Right,” Viktor hissed. “My age. I forgot that I’ve always been an invalid, ever since I quit competing to coach you. That was the end of everything, and sometimes I still regret it.”

Those words hung even longer. Yuri slowly raised a hand to his mouth, drawing in a trembling breath; he sat back in his seat, swallowed thickly, and looked away. Nikita knew that his mother was about to break down into tears. He sniffled loudly, taking a napkin off the table to wipe his nose. “Alright. I guess that’s it, then. I can’t go through this with you again, Viktor; I’m so exhausted playing nurse and worrying myself sick. This is four times in ten years, and I just-- If it’s not going to change, then I--”

Panic hit Nikita like a freight train and he shot up out of his seat. “He wasn’t doing anything, Mom! He skated a bit, but he mostly stood by the boards and watched. Please, I promise he didn’t do anything!” His parents were staring at him again, and he looked between the two of them. He went rigid, waiting for someone to say something; when they didn’t, he scrambled to fill the discomfort. “And, Dad… I mean, Mom’s right to worry. Shouri and I are scared that something is going to happen, too. Just…. Please don’t get divorced.”

The tension slowly began to dissolve as Yuri and Viktor looked up at each other across the table, both wearing concerned expressions. Hurriedly, Yuri wiped his eyes and tried to put on a smile as he drew breath to say something, but the front door flew open and Shouri came down the hall carrying his girlfriend bridal style, the two wearing matching grins as Akari squealed with delight. Shouri placed Akari down so she could stand on her own feet but left his arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her drawn close to him, refusing to let go. He was red in the face, panting like he’d just run a marathon, and looked happier than anyone in the Katsuki-Nikiforov family had in years.

“She said yes,” he breathed out, so winded that the words ran together, practically incomprehensible. He took a deep breath, swallowed, and tried again. “She said yes.”

For a long moment, his brother and parents stared at him, not seeming to comprehend what he was telling them, but at some point the switch in Yuri’s head flipped and his jaw dropped. He wasn’t sure if Shouri’s timing could have been better or worse, but for now what mattered to him was that his precious baby, his oldest son, had just dropped quite the bomb on them. “You’re getting married?”

Shouri nodded vigorously, his ponytail bobbing at the small of his back, and Yuri huffed out a disbelieving laugh. He stepped forward to examine the ring on his future daughter-in-law’s hand, and then immediately fogged up, drawing the couple into his arms to squeeze them close to his body. He’d needed this desperately--something to take his mind off his worry for his husband’s health and safety. Just for that moment, he could forget that the idea of divorcing his husband of twenty-four years had been prominent in his mind recently, and that his anxiety--his fear that confronting Viktor to try and work things out again would only end with more yelling--was telling him that it was time. In that moment, he could hold his son and his son’s fiancée, cry with them out of pure joy, and he didn’t have to think about what would happen after.

They all sat down for a drink in celebration--even a small glass for Nikita, Viktor insisted. It was just a shot of vodka in a supervised home, after all. Yuri didn’t argue, as much as he didn’t like the idea; he also didn’t tell Viktor that he shouldn’t be drinking alcohol with his medication, because that time had to belong to Shouri. In that moment, he and his feelings didn’t matter, so he swallowed them back and waited until later when he was listening to Viktor showering before bed to cry. He just wanted things to go back to the honeymoon phase, when they were still madly in love, completely consumed by each other and totally in sync. What had happened to the way they used to be? At what point had they stopped feeling that intense rush just being close to each other?

For Yuri, it was too long ago. The last time he remembered feeling so overwhelmingly in love that it filled him with ecstasy so pure that he wanted to sing was…. The last time he remembered being so achingly in love with Viktor was the night that Yuzu had most likely been conceived. After the miscarriage, after not dealing with it at all, pretending for almost ten years that it didn’t happen, watching Viktor allow him to deal with his grief that way…. That had been the start of it. That had been when he’d stopped being in love. That was when he did everything out of habit and the romance slowly began to drain away. He didn’t want to bother Viktor with his erratic emotions, but at the same time he wanted Viktor to see how broken up he was, and Viktor just… hadn’t. Yuri resented Viktor, not only for that, but for years of him refusing to listen, continuing to treat Yuri like his student as some kind of defence mechanism, coming home drunk in the middle of the night, not allowing Yuri to discuss the option of an abortion when he expressed how terrified he was to try having another baby…. There were more. There were so many more reasons why he hated Viktor and what they’d turned themselves into over the years together.

The shower turned off and Viktor emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, dressed in his pyjama pants and noticeably hobbling the short distance from the bathroom to the bed. He sat with a wince, drawing in a sharp breath. “Yuri, I’ve had some time to think about what happened earlier. I want to confess something to you.”

There was a softness to his voice that Yuri craved if only for the familiarity, and a fresh round of tears welled in his eyes, falling uncontrollably. He couldn’t let this happen. Viktor would say something, Yuri would forgive him, they’d fall back into the same routine. He knew he had to do it quickly. “I want a divorce.”

The whole room stilled. For a moment, Yuri wasn’t sure that time was still moving forward, and he turned to see Viktor hunched over at the edge of the bed, face in his hands as he held back the sounds of his tears. There was an overwhelming urge to comfort this man, but he knew it would be for the best if he kept to himself.

“I’m sorry, Viktor. I just can’t--”

“Don’t explain why. Just tell me what I can do to change your mind.”

Yuri took a moment to think about it. What _could_ Viktor do to change his mind? There were so many things that his husband would certainly come out an entirely different person. Someone sweet and kind and upbeat, who listened, understood his worries, and was considerate of them. He wanted someone who was spontaneous and adventurous, but retained responsibility and had a good head on their shoulders. These were all things that belonged to the young, vibrant Viktor Nikiforov, who had chased him down on a whim to be his coach, who cared deeply and immensely, who didn’t just hear the sound of his voice, but paid attention to the meaning behind his words. “…I don’t think there _is_ anything…. I just… don’t… love you anymore. Not like that.”

Saying it out loud had a very different and more profound effect than what Yuri had expected. It was almost a relief to finally let it out, but it came with a sadness to it that was like a sucker punch to the gut. He’d heard someone say one time to never meet your idols, and he assumed it was because they were almost never how you expected them to be. They’d been married twenty-four years and never once had that statement seemed truer than it did now. All he’d ever wanted was for Viktor to be himself, and he was. It was just that Viktor had changed with time, and so had Yuri’s expectations. Once upon a time, he would have been okay with Viktor being the aloof, untouchable Adonis who did things his own way just because he could. He would have taken the coach who was more a bully than a motivator, who whipped back and forth between insulting Yuri’s weight and begging to share a bed with him. He would have loved Viktor drunk or hung over, abusing his medication just to make himself feel good. He couldn’t do that now, no matter how much he wished he could.

With those words out in the open, Viktor now was able to realize just how badly he’d fucked up, and it was too much. Yuri could only listen to him as he openly broke down into tears, and it made his own eyes burn. He still cared. He cared so much that it was destroying him to watch his soul mate destroy himself. Over the last ten or so years, he’d seen Viktor on his absolute worst days, helping him through the rehabilitation after his emergency hip and knee surgeries the first time, and then the following three surgeries after he refused to just allow his knee to heal properly, and it was exhaustive trying to help someone who didn’t want to be helped. There was still a part of Yuri that wished it wouldn’t have come to this, but really, it was just another brick in the wall. Everything else was cemented into place now; he couldn’t help how he felt.

Eventually, Viktor collected himself, but there was still overwhelming sadness in his voice. “Just… give me the rest of this season. Please.”

“Viktor--”

“I know. I don’t expect you to change your mind. I’ve been absolutely miserable, and I understand that. I was going to tell you, I know that you’re right, and I wanted to do my best to change. But I can’t ask you to help with that when you’ve already put so much time and effort into trying.” He let the rest of his breath out in a huff, frustrated with himself. “I mean… for Nika. He has this big season coming up, and I don’t want anything to get in the way of that for him. He wants to bring home as many gold medals as he can, and I want to make that happen for him. At the end of the season, we’ll hire a lawyer and file together.” Again, he drew in an uneven breath, pausing to wipe his eyes and nose. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. It’s probably partially my fault.” Against his own will, Yuri was caving, crossing the bed to place a hand on his husband’s back. Husband? They would still be married for the rest of the year, but Yuri didn’t feel like it was right for him to think of Viktor like that anymore. “Just until the end of the season, then. For Nika.”

Viktor hesitated then, looking up at Yuri with glassy blue eyes, and immediately looking away. “I need to tell you something else.” There was a long, drawn out silence as Yuri waited for him to continue, but Viktor just stared at the floor, chewing on his lip until a fresh round of tears began to well up. “I’ve been…. The reason why….” He stopped, wiped his eyes. Yuri had a sinking feeling; he felt like he knew where this was going. “The painkillers. I--”

It was too hard for him to say, but Yuri appreciated that his mate could come this far in admitting that he had a problem. “No, it’s alright. I guess I kind of figured. And I know you’ve been taking them with alcohol, too. You can’t do that, Viktor. If you think that us getting divorced is going to be hard on our kids, imagine what’s going to happen if they have to attend your funeral.”

When Viktor turned into him, Yuri accepted him, resting his chin on the Russian’s shoulder as everything sank in on him and consumed him. He couldn’t even try to say anything through the tears, not that there was much for him to say. Yuri had been a precious gift to him, and he’d taken advantage of that for so long. Now, he was paying the price. The only thing he could do now was try his hardest not to make things any worse. How much more would it take for Yuri to walk out and take Nikita with him, and for Shouri to cut contact with him? Would he be invited to his sons’ weddings--Shouri’s when he married Akari, and Nikita’s when he and Lev were finally old enough? Maybe he’d have to go back to Russia on his own to try and start over. Maybe he would die there alone. It was too painful to think about, so he squeezed Yuri tightly, begging him silently not to leave him. If he said it out loud, he knew that he’d be faced with agonizing rejection, and he just couldn’t handle that.

“Don’t worry, Vitya. Everything is going to be alright. I can promise you that.”

* * *

Almost exactly a month to the day that Shouri had proposed to Akari, everything seemed picture perfect. They were looking at starter homes to begin to build their family, starting with the tiny life they’d already created and had yet to announce. _“Wait until after the twelve week mark, just to be safe,”_ the obstetrician had told them. _“The first twelve weeks generally carries the highest risk for miscarriage.”_ They understood that, and did everything to ensure that their baby had the best chance possible. Shouri absolutely radiated pride from the first moment that they’d found out, excited to be a father to their son or daughter. Everyone just assumed it was because of the upcoming wedding, which made hiding their secret just a little easier.

Before they could make it to twelve weeks, before they could tell anyone, before they really had a chance to come to terms with the fact that they were going to be parents, there was an accident. All Shouri knew for sure was that Akari had been driving to work when another driver lost control and slammed headfirst into her. She was lucky to have survived, though unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for their unborn baby; they wouldn’t have the chance to try again after the damage had resulted in Akari needing major abdominal surgery. A complete hysterectomy.

Physically, she recovered quite well.

Mentally and emotionally…?

They broke up. Shouri didn’t feel right leaving things that way, insisted that he still loved her, that he still wanted to care for her. He still wanted to be with her. She absolutely wouldn’t have it. She wanted to take time to think about what all this meant for her without him getting in the way, and with a blow to the gut like that, there was nothing Shouri could do but move himself home in pieces. He noticed the subtle difference in how his parents interacted while he was there, and part of him knew that they were falling apart as well. Why they were still together and playing house, he could only guess at, though he was sure it was likely for Nikita’s sake.

As well-meaning as their intentions were, Shouri couldn’t watch it without thinking about himself and Akari--how one day they’d been perfect and the next everything was a complete catastrophe. There was really only one thing he could think of that would help. He had to get away, go somewhere for a long time to refresh and recharge. But where? He had the advantage of being fluent in three languages, supplemented with enough of a few others that he could get by. He could go anywhere in Japan, he could move to Russia, or there were several at least four major English-speaking countries he could disappear to. He had enough French that he could get by in France or Switzerland, and enough knowledge of the Thai language that he was confident he could build on it and make it alright.

But there was one place in particular where he knew he would be safe and welcome, where he could trust that he wouldn’t be sold out if he wanted to lay low for a while. Shouri picked up his phone and went into his contacts, knowing that it was probably late at night in Canada, but he called anyway. It rang twice before a groggy voice on the other end asked him if he was alright.

“Uncle Yurio…. Can I come stay with you for a little bit?”

He sounded like a child who had been scolded by his parents, but he didn’t care. He felt like he needed to hold back everything until he could see his uncle again; only then would he break down like he should have. Only then would he let it all out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I can't let anyone be happy. What the Hell.
> 
> We're definitely in the final stretch of SMAA now. It says fifteen chapters still, but that's only because I have a lot more stuff I want to cover before this is all over. Likely what I'll do from here is cover Nikita's season and what happens to Shouri after all this, right up until Vikturi's divorce. Yes, it's happening. No it's not a joke. I'm aware of the "Angst With A Happy Ending" tag, and yes I'm sticking with it. That's not a tag I plan on changing last-second because my fickle muse wants to be a bag of douche.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel so inclined. I answer every one, even if it takes me a bit to get there.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @Neoniichan, and send all the asks because I get bored easily when I'm supposed to be doing other things.
> 
> Follow me on Instagram because I post pictures of my cats sometimes.
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading and enjoying.


	14. Almacantar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you by not sleeping or editing. Sorry.
> 
> Update. I write everything in Docs because this laptop I'm borrowing only has WordPad as a word processor for whatever reason, and I think the McFuck not.
> 
> Upside to writing in Docs? When your laptop is being a dick, Drive has already saved your progress one second after you changed something.
> 
> Downside to writing in Docs? Fixing all the spacing and not knowing how it's going to look before you post it because ??? What the actual fuck, Docs.
> 
> I'm also extremely tired and extremely burned out from writing. This whole chapter is not my finest moment. Actually, the whole time I couldn't wait to just get it out and post it so I could take a break from SMAA for a while and then just move the crap on. No, I don't know if what occurs is even possible, but I'm going to take the fact that this is also set literally twenty-six years after YOI and run with it. This is probably going to be the last update before my Shit Bang piece goes up on August because apparently smut takes up all my time and energy. So if you can't deal with that, then... I mean, you know how to unbookmark.

The living room was absolutely silent. Yurio and Shouri sat together on opposing sofas each with a mug in hand--Yuri’s was filled with hazelnut coffee, Shouri’s with chamomile tea. The Russian sipped at his beverage thoughtfully for a moment, one leg crossed over the other and his hair pulled over his shoulder, left unbraided. Shouri was certain it had been trimmed in recent years to keep it above his waist. The black-haired man felt uncomfortable in the quiet, unnerved by the thin line of his uncle’s mouth.  
  
Finally, “Are you crazy?”  
  
Shouri stared at him, wide-eyed and furrowed his brow. “Maybe?”  
  
“You’d have to be; or you’re a complete idiot, and I’ve known you long enough to know that you’re not that.” The blond finally leaned forward to set his mug on the coffee table, and leaned back in his seat, looking Shouri over with scrutinizing eyes. He motioned for Shouri to stand and turn, and the biracial male did as told, though he was slightly confused as Yuri appraised him with the most judgemental green eyes that Shouri had ever seen. When he was allowed to sit back down, it was only so he could watch Yuri shake his head and sigh, disappointed in Shouri’s physique--he definitely had the body of a skater, there was no disputing that. But Shouri coached children. He wasn’t a high performance athlete, and his body reflected that. “You _are_ crazy.”  
  
Shouri nodded slowly, dropping his head and sighing heavily. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I knew that it was a long shot, I was just hoping that there was some kind of a chance.” He stood again and made to leave the room, but his uncle cleared his throat, catching his attention before he made it too far.  
  
“Shouri. I didn’t say no.” He paused, gave enough time to let those words sink in, and when Shouri’s eyes had widened satisfactorily, the blond continued. “I said you’re crazy. It’s going to be a challenge, sure, but it’s been done before, and it can be done again. You do realize what this means, though?”  
  
Shouri shook his head, “No.”  
  
“You’re going to be competing against your fifteen-year-old brother who has living legend and Russian hero Viktor Nikiforov as his coach. And that’s only if I can get you into the Grand Prix series to start with. I can likely talk Skate Canada officials into inviting you as one of their three for Men’s Singles, but you’re going to have to skate for Canada, and you’ll have one shot to get into the Grand Prix. Everyone else gets two, so you’ll be at a major disadvantage. If you don’t mind all that, then we’ll book time at the arena this afternoon and see where you are in terms of ability.” Yurio leaned forward once again to take up his cup of coffee and offered a small smile for reassurance. “You’ve got the bloodline and the raw talent to back it up, but if you’re not going to be ready for this season, we can always just compete locally and try again next--”  
  
“No. It has to be this season,” Shouri interjected firmly, meeting his uncle’s eyes with a hard look. “With everything that’s happened in the last few months…. It just has to be this season.” Yurio raised an eyebrow at him and Shouri suddenly looked conflicted, coming closer so he could lower his voice. “Mom and Dad are getting a divorce at the end of the season.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Shouri looked away and inhaled deeply. “Nika doesn’t know, and they’re not going to tell him until after Worlds. They want him to focus on his senior debut, and I just…. This sounds so fucking selfish. I have to win to get their attention. They’ve just lost sight of what’s really important; Dad is throwing everything he has into Nika and his knee is absolutely toast, but he doesn’t listen, and I guess Mom’s just done. They can’t break up, Uncle Yurio. I can’t let that happen, and I know they won’t listen to anything I have to say, so I need to skate my feelings. Not only for them, but Akari….”  
  
When he trailed off, Yuri nodded and stood, drawing his nephew in to hug him almost awkwardly. “It’s hard, _solnyshko_ , I know. But you’ve already cried it out. No point upsetting yourself all over again. The only thing you can do is skate your programs with all your heart and hope it gets through. And if it doesn’t… just be happy you grew up smarter than your parents, against all odds.”  
  
Shouri pulled away, wiped his eyes, and gave a weak smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry to dump all this on you all of a sudden. It’s just so important to me.”  
  
Yurio nodded in acknowledgement and sat back down with his cup of coffee cradled close. “If you have enough time to simper about it, you have enough time to do your chores. Don’t think you’re getting off just because you’re family. I’m already going to have to defer your coaching fee until you actually win something.”  
  
Shouri nodded enthusiastically and turned toward the kitchen to go load the dishwasher, but was stopped short when he collided with Lev rather abruptly. The fifteen-year-old had been staring directly down at his phone, grinning stupidly and not paying attention to anything around him as he came back inside from the barn. Shouri had hit him on his left side, literally blindsiding him. Startled, Lev just about hit the floor, his phone clattering to the ground as it fell from his hand. “ _Oh_ \-- Oh God, Lev! I’m sorry!”  
  
As he bent to pick up his phone, examining a small crack in the side of the screen, Lev hissed out a quiet curse in Quebecois. “Ah… _tabarnak_.”  
  
“I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t see you, Lev; God, I’m so sorry.” Shouri pleaded, clearly feeling deep remorse.  
  
Lev wasn’t going to take it though. “ _You_ didn’t see _me_? Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” It wasn’t any big secret that Lev’s vision in his left eye was extremely poor, but Shouri hadn’t thought about that before speaking, and he regretted it.  
  
“Calm down, Levonechka. He didn’t do it on purpose. Let me see.” As he took the phone to look it over, Shouri thought about how he didn't remember Yurio ever being so laid back. His uncle used to be so much more reactivate, he was sure. Definitely having Otabek’s support and raising a child together had mellowed him out over time, there was no doubt about that. Even just fifteen years ago, Shouri could clearly recall a man who was brash and temperamental; this hardly seemed like the same person. In some mixture of awe and confusion, Shouri watched as Yuri brushed his fingers over the phone, tipping it back and forth to examine it thoroughly for damage. “It’s superficial, Levonechka. The speaker might be a little busted, but it’s not a big dea.”  
  
“But Papa, I was just about to call Nikita!” His uncle's son--his cousin?--wailed and rolled his eyes when Yurio told him to use his laptop instead--the one he’d begged for because he needed it and all his friends had one. It wouldn't kill him to go without his phone for a few days until they could have it fixed. Shouri felt horrible, knowing that there was something special and profound about his brother's friendship with Lev, and as hostile as Nikita could be toward him sometimes, he loved his brother and he wanted him to be able to have the relationship he couldn't have with Akari. There was a nagging thought in the back of his head that things could just as easily implode on Nikita and Lev, but Shouri did everything he could to push that down and away. He didn’t want to see them slowly meltdown and then self-destruct the way he had with Akari.  
  
He wet his lips, weighed his word carefully. “Lev, if you want, you can call Nika with my phone. I don't mind.”  
  
Lev’s eyebrows shot up under his unruly reddish hair as Shouri passed his phone to him with a rueful smile. “Are you sure? I wanted to go back to the barn to show Nika the new foal. The data charges would be insane.”  
  
“Yeah, go ahead. It's the least I can do.” Lev turned to leave with a quick word of gratitude, headed up to his room presumably to get something when Shouri’s voice made him pause. “I really am sorry.”  
  
Lev seemed to consider this for a moment, looking down at the phone in his hand, and then looked back up with a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, we both kind of walked into each other. Thanks for this. I’ll try to keep it short.” With that, Lev bounced away, and Shouri was left standing there with a crooked little smile.  
  
He was a good kid. It was hard to believe that Yurio had raised a _good kid_ , even with Otabek there to assist. The thought almost made him laugh, which earned him a verbal lashing from his uncle; Shouri immediately went to take care of his chores, marvelling over how relaxed this home was in comparison to the one he’d grown up in, and wondering how long he could actually stay there. He was already twenty-five, staying in Canada on a visa, and heavily considering permanent residency already. It wasn’t that he wanted to stay away from his parents and younger brother, but… the time away seemed long overdue. Perhaps removing himself from all the drama would do him some good.

 

* * *

 

“Good practice,” Yuri complimented as Shouri came to the edge of the boards for a drink, but his face said anything but. He stroked his chin, still looking over Shouri with a critical eye--it made Shouri feel almost naked with the scrutiny, and he couldn’t say that was something he very much cared for at all. “How much energy do you have left?”  
  
Shouri tried his best to shrug that feeling off, internally blaming the flush on his cheeks on the way Yurio had put him through the ringer over the course of the last hour or so. “I could still do another half hour without totally exhausting myself, I think.”  
  
“You think.”  
  
“I’m usually on the ice with my classes for two or three hours a day. Not all at once, but sometimes with hardly any break in between.” Shouri took a mouthful of water, swilling it carefully before swallowing to wet his dry throat. “But that’s just practice. I haven’t skated an actual program since I was nine, and the pressure of competition would probably kill me.”  
  
Yurio nodded at that last statement, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I was thinking the same. Alright, one last thing if you can manage it.” Shouri looked up, taking another long drink and waited for an answer. “I need to see your quad flip.”  
  
Shouri just about spit, but managed to hold it in, nearly choking as he forced the water down his throat. “I can barely even land a quad toe loop, Uncle, I--”  
  
“ _Coach_. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right. You want them to pay attention? You’re going to have to have that quad flip, right at the end, and likely in combination. You have to make an impact, Shouri, or they’re not going to get it. You seem to forget how stupid they both are.” Yurio clapped his hands together in finality, waving Shouri back off the boards and onto the ice. “Alright. We have a lot of work to do. You already have the quad toe loop in your roster, so we’ll start there. The theory is generally the same for each of the quads--it’s just perfecting the technique, getting the correct height and speed, et cetera. We’ll also be working on each of your jumps in counter-clockwise for more diversity in your programs, which we’ll be starting on tomorrow. You say you can do three hours a day, then we’ll do three hours a day, five days a week. Otherwise you’re never going to make the cut for the Grand Prix. And if I don’t see your heart in it, I’ll quit as your coach.”  
  
Shouri stumbled, pick caught in the ice, and he flailed to keep himself upright. “Well-- Don’t just say it like that!” Plainly, the blatant honestly of his uncle had shocked him. _There_ was the angry uncle he remembered from his childhood; Shouri knew he was still in there hiding out somewhere.  
  
“How would you prefer I say it then? If you can’t do what I need you to do, then I’m not going to waste my time. Plain and simple. Now, show me that quad toe loop.” There was harsh finality in Yuri’s voice, and Shouri picked himself back up, wetting lips that were sure to become chapped before long. He went out and made a lap, picking up speed to show off his horrible attempt at a quad toe loop, which ended up with him completely falling out. It couldn’t have been any worse if he’d tried; Shouri could imagine his father’s voice in his head, telling him he’d over-rotated, he’d two-footed the landing, to bend his knees more and mind his arabesque to clear that free leg. He imagined ten years ago, seeing his parents skating together, performing incredibly beautiful jumps and spins, and wanting to be just like them. The young man pushed himself back up and pouted as he brushed himself off, waiting for his coach’s criticism; when there was none, he looked up, confused. Yurio raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you want? You know what you did wrong, so fix it.”  
  
And he did, so he tried again. And again. Each time he ended up on his knees, closer to tears with every failed attempt, but he immediately picked himself up and tried again. He did this with his students at home, so why couldn’t he figure it out for himself? What did he always recommend for his students? If they were having trouble, he told them to start smaller, make sure they had the technique down at the lowest level before moving up. But for fuck sake--it was _just a damned toe loop_. Shouri was visibly getting upset. He was twenty-five, had been on the ice almost as soon as he could walk, and was the son of two amazing figure skaters. True, he’d given up skating seriously when he was nine and his asthma was not as controlled as it was now and because of that he’d lost a lot of progress that he could have made. There was little doubt that he would have been one of the top Grand Prix skaters by now if he’d stayed on--his father had made sure to remind him of that multiple times after Nikita had gotten his first Grand Prix assignment in the junior division.  
  
When Shouri fell this time, too frustrated to think clearly through his jump, he just laid there, face down on the ice, forehead rested on his crossed arms. Maybe he actually _was_ crazy. This was never going to work.  
  
“Hey, get up! If you’re serious about this, then show it!” Yurio’s voice called across the ice; Shouri lifted his head, squinting at him and the unfamiliar figure standing next to him. Slowly, the ponytailed man picked himself up, listening as the new figure turned to his uncle with a small frown.  
  
He spoke crisp, cool Russian. “ _Is this the girl you’re training, Yuri?_ ” Unfortunately, it wasn’t like Shouri’s Russian wasn’t up to par, so he caught this easily and frowned. Yuri looked up at Shouri, who was slowly collecting himself up off the ice and nodded. “ _What is she doing?_ ”  
  
Yuri shrugged his response as Shouri got to his feet, and made his way over, sizing up the man as he glided closer and closer. “ _Practicing, obviously._ ”  
  
The stranger huffed and shook his head. “ _She’s a total mess. Why are you wasting your time?_ ”  
  
Shouri reached the boards for a drink just as these words fell out the man’s mouth, and he raised his eyebrows, taking in as much of him as he could. He was _cute_ , and that probably pissed Shouri off more than anything else. He couldn’t stop staring, from his ocean blue eyes, full pink lips, perfect heart-shaped face and the wheat blond of his hair, to the slim, toned dancer’s body under a fitted grey sweater. The ponytailed male couldn’t help the light flush that bloomed over his cheeks. “ _I’m a man_ ,” he finally said in bitter Russian, just to prove that he not only knew the language but could also converse quite easily with it. “ _And I’m not a mess or a waste of time._ ”  
  
The man--presumably a dancer--let his eyebrows rise up under his bangs as he glanced sideways at Yuri, who crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “Shouri, this is your choreographer, Vasiliy Ilyich Kozlov. Vasiliy, this is the skater I was talking to you about on the phone.”  
  
There was a long silence where Vasiliy and Shouri sized each other up, every once in awhile meeting each other’s eyes--Shouri with a challenging expression and Vasiliy with a bored and unimpressed one--and finally Vasiliy extended his hand. “Good to meet you. Hopefully you at least have the basics in ballet; it seems like I already have a lot of work to do, and I don’t want to have to start from scratch. It’s just too much work this late in the season.” There was a decadance to his voice, rich with accent, that had Shouri frowning even more; if anything was certain, Vasiliy didn’t want to be here, and Shouri didn’t want to find him in any way attractive.  
  
“I’ve danced since I was little. My mom dances, so--”  
  
“I don’t need your life story. Thank you.” Vasiliy pushed a frustrated hand through his fair hair, leaving Shouri growling out his mounting anger. When the choreographer turned to Yurio to talk to him, completely dismissing Shouri from the conversation, that was it. Shouri made his way off the ice and sat to unlace his skates. His whole body was already sore, legs shaking with overexertion. He was too tired to keep going and his throat felt hot and dry. He was nearly to the point of tears. Maybe this _was_ stupid. Maybe he _was_ wasting his time.  
  
“Shouri.” The skater looked up to see his uncle waving him over, so he slipped his running shoes on and curiously made his way to stand by the two men with a confused look between them. “Vasiliy has agreed to take you on; ballet lessons start tomorrow morning at 8am sharp, and then we’ll work on your skating technique in the afternoon. Five days a week. Understand?” Shouri nodded his response slowly, gaze travelling back to the disinterested look on Vasiliy’s face. Who the Hell was this guy that Yurio trusted so much as a choreographer, anyway? He didn’t look like he was much older than Shouri despite the sternness of his features. “We’ve already decided to do your short program to an excerpt from Tchaikovsky’s _The Lilac Fairy_. If we can get a composer on board soon enough, I think I have an idea for the free program. A mash-up of Viktor’s _Stammi Vicino_ and Yuri’s _Yuri On Ice_. You want to remind them of why they fell in love in the first place? That’s going to be the way to do it.”  
  
Shouri couldn’t argue that at all. He knew that they’d both immediately recognize the significance of both programs and that even performing them once would be enough for them. But it wouldn’t be enough for him. Shouri wanted to win, now more than ever--he had to prove that he wasn’t a waste of anyone’s time, prove that his parents still loved each other deeply and deter them from divorcing, prove that Akari was wrong to leave him. He was worth something.  
  
And he only had one chance to prove that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this fic at all in the slightest, or if you hate it for whatever reason, leave a comment and let me know. I like to have conversations, so expect a reply at some point eventually. I live for comments, so even if you take the time to give me one four-letter one-word response, I'll be happy.


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